


French Toast and Psychosis

by bluetoast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, No Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a weekend get-away. Doctor Gabriel Armstrong was looking forward to his semi-annual weekend off to de-stress from his job as a psychiatrist. He certainly wasn't looking for a weekend fling. Dean Winchester has been doing a good job of hiding his burn-out from running his diner and taking care of his brother Sam, who's battling leukemia. He was sent off for the weekend, kicking and screaming. He definitely wasn't looking for anything out of the weekend other than a nice massage. What neither of them know is that they're already connected - by one of Gabriel's patients, Emma Crowe.</p><p>
  <b>Written for the 2014 Gabriel Big Bang Challenge</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork: http://kidezt.livejournal.com/10387.html

The diner was warm and inviting. It was one of those nostalgic places that when you walked inside, you felt that, if you ignored the clothing on the customers, you might think you'd stepped back in time at least forty years. Gabriel slid into a seat at the diner's counter, inhaling the wonderful smell of fried onions and hot coffee. A colleague had told him about the place, mostly rambling about the incredible deep fried jalapenos and made from scratch milk shakes. In his opinion, Gabriel decided that some of Anna's ramblings had been brought on by monthly hormonal changes. But, he did respect her opinion in other matters, so he thought he would at least do her the benefit of visiting the establishment at least once. The woman had a tendency to be right when it came to food.

“Good evening.” A slightly worn, but still cheerful voice cut into his thoughts. “How are you doing this fine night?”

As if on cue, a rumble of thunder echoed outside and Gabriel managed to return the woman's smile, although tiredly. “I'm pretty good, thank you.” 

“That's great. I'm Charlie and I'll be taking care of you this evening.” She set a menu down in front of him. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A butterscotch milkshake – and a glass of water, please.” He wondered how the woman could be so happy after being on her feet for several hours. 

“Sure. I'll give you a few minutes to look over the menu. Today's special is a pulled pork sandwich, served with fries and a small dinner salad. Our pies for today are peach and lemon meringue.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel replied and picked up the menu. The fare was what some might call typical with a twist. While there were burgers and hot dogs, there was a list of toppings that ranged from 'normal' things like onions and pickles, to things that couldn't be right for them – like peanut butter and guacamole. Just the idea of either made him feel a little sick. The special sounded rather good to him and he quickly scanned the list of dressings as Charlie came back over with his tea.

“You decide on something?” She set down the glass and a long iced tea spoon. 

“I believe I will have the special.” Gabriel handed the menu back to her. “Blue Cheese dressing, please.”

“Coming right up.” Charlie scribbled his order on a pad and went to ring it in. 

He took a long pull on the straw of the milkshake and his brain went into sugar and cold nirvana. It was the perfect thing to bring an upswing to his long day. He took another sip and took a look around the diner. There weren't many people in here at this time of night. A waitress in a similar uniform to Charlie's sat a table rolling silverware into napkins. A tired looking man sat at another table typing away on a laptop and occasionally taking a drink from his coffee mug. There was also a couple working their way through dessert, both of them focused on their phones and not each other, and lastly, there was a rail-thin young man wearing a skull cap methodically eating a hamburger with a knife and fork, as if each bite was a struggle. Gabriel turned back around right as his salad was set in front of him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She leaned against the counter, looking out over his head at the other customers. “You need a refill, Jim?” 

“No, thank you, Charlie.” The man behind Gabriel replied.

Gabriel stuck his fork into the cup of dressing and then speared some of his salad onto it. He was barely halfway finished when a plate with his sandwich and fries were set on the counter. It had been a rough day at work. 

When he was a teenager, in school, a lot of his classmates would give him weird looks when he told them he planned on being a clinical psychiatrist. It wasn't exactly like saying you were going to be a heart surgeon or a lawyer. This lead to a number of instances when classmates would come up to him out of the blue and rant at him about the most inane things imaginable – and then ask for his opinion. He usually replied with telling them they were talking to the wrong person, or asking if they felt better after venting their anger on an impartial third party. He stopped caring about people calling him a freak before his junior year. He hadn't exactly picked psychiatry out of the blue; the men (and now, some of the women) in his family became doctors, and there were enough surgeons and pediatricians to staff a hospital already. He wanted to be different, and given his sweet-tooth, it'd be hypocritical of him to be a dentist.

He heard a radio click on somewhere in the diner and he looked up, just in time to hear a muffled version of the Star Spangled Banner echo out across the almost empty diner – only the waitress and the thin man remained. He'd fallen into thinking about his patients; Bela, a woman overcoming a childhood of harrowing abuse of all kinds, Chuck, the schizophrenic who was convinced angels were talking to him, and Emma, who'd been rescued from a cult by the Feds and was in state ordered therapy.

Of course, she'd yet to open up about anything and they usually spent her sessions playing a board game. Now that he was back with the world, he noticed he'd eaten most of his dinner without tasting it. The noise from the radio was the roar of a crowd and then a man introduced the starting lineup for the Cincinnati Reds. Given the time of night, they must be playing a team in California.

Charlie was back. “You going to want any dessert, darlin'?” She picked up the empty salad plate. “We close in a few, and this isn't to rush you, we just want to get things ready for the night.”

“Could I get a slice of the peach pie to go?” He'd rather eat his dessert at home than sit here in this diner with the sound of a game and his fork scraping against a plate.

“Of course.” She grinned and walked away. 

Gabriel finished his meal, deciding that he would tell Anna he'd visited the place and thank her for recommending it. Of course, knowing Anna, she'd ask him if he tried the fried pickles or another one of the unusual choices. He was too tired to be adventurous with his dinner. At least he hadn't gotten something that could be considered dull – like a plain hamburger. Charlie returned with a container holding his pie and slid his bill down with it. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you're welcome.” She walked away. 

He got out his wallet as the door to the kitchen swung open and a man, a little younger than him, came out. He wore dark jeans and a short sleeved chef's coat. He said nothing to him but came around the counter and went over to the thin man. Gabriel shook his head and set a ten and a five down on his bill. 

Perhaps he'd come back here again.

*

Dean slid into the booth opposite of his brother, who was finishing up his fried potatoes and cottage cheese. He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “You want anything else, little brother?”

“No, thanks Dean.” Sam set down his fork, pushed his plate away and leaned back. “I'm full.” 

“We'll leave as soon as I've got the kitchen cleaned up.” He picked up the plate and headed for the kitchen. 

Sam got to his feet and made his way to the counter. “You don't need to rush on my behalf, Dean. I know you're tired.” 

“It's okay, Sammy. Sooner I get it cleaned up, sooner we can go home and we both can get some rest.” He propped the door to the kitchen open and put the last of the dishes into a rack and shoved it into the machine.

“Meant to tell you Sam, you're looking good.” Charlie came back from sweeping under the tables. She gave him a half hug. “Think you'll be up for Dragon Con come September?” 

“I'm planning on it, Charlie.” He sat down. “You still want to go as Amy Pond? I think I should be able to get a tenth doctor costume together, provided you don't change your mind... again.” 

Charlie laughed. “I'm not going to change my mind, don't worry.” She went around the counter as Becky came out of the kitchen. 

“I'm off, I'll see you tomorrow.” She pulled on her jacket. “Take care of yourself, Sam.”

“I will Becky, don't worry.” Sam leaned against the counter, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Dean pulled the rack back out of the dishwasher and opened the machine's drains. “See you later, Becky.” He called out from the kitchen. 

“The food was good Dean - I'm sorry I couldn't finish it all.” Sam smiled faintly as the radio crackled as the radio declared the Reds taking the early lead. 

“It's okay, I'm just glad you feel like eating again.” He put the dishes away. “Let's go home.” 

*  
Dean fell back on his bed, eyes closed. Today had been beyond exhausting. True, he had always wanted work at and eventually take over his uncle's diner - but he hadn't counted on it happening before he was thirty. He also wasn't prepared for one disaster after another hitting him in life after he finished culinary school. His parents died in a car wreck, then his uncle had died, leaving him the diner and then, just when things _finally_ seemed to be calming down, his brother called from Stanford with the news he was sick and needed to drop out – at least, out of Stanford. Dean drove his brother back to his home in Louisville, Kentucky in what had to be the hardest road trip ever. Sam was now slowly making his way through his undergrad at UK in between chemo treatments. 

Dean had to wonder how the hell someone who lived as healthy as his brother could even be diagnosed with the disease. The doctors got all analytical and talked about genetics and diet to the point where he'd wanted to punch them. The last person in their family to have cancer of any kind had been their maternal grandfather, and he'd been such a heavy drinker he'd most likely pickled his liver before his daughter was out of diapers. But Sam was leaps and bounds ahead of where he used to be. He wasn't nearly as weak as he'd been after the first rounds of chemo. The doctors were optimistic about Sam going into remission and Dean unquestionably believed his brother would kick this cancer's ass.

Sam was still set on becoming a lawyer, but he stated he didn't need to go all the way back to Stanford to do it. Dean silently agreed – he'd like to at least keep his brother in the same time zone for a while. His brother had one more round of chemo to go through before the long trek upward back to health, and while he knew almost nothing about medicine and treatments that seemed almost worse than the disease, he did know that the best thing he could do was to be there for Sam, and to take care of him. His brother even remarked he was getting way to mother-henish at times. He wasn't sure if this annoyed Sam or not – but their mom wasn't here. There was just him – and at times, Dean didn't know what else to do but be a mother hen. 

Dean hated to admit that it was wearing him out. 

It seemed so selfish, so wrong, to sometimes be angry with his brother for getting sick and for him to having to take care of him. He knew there were therapy groups out there for people taking care of sick relatives, but when the hell was he going to find the time to go to a group like that? If he wasn't working or taking care of Sam, he was usually sleeping or doing something for the diner. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his feet. Maybe he just needed to say the hell with it and take a weekend off. Just three days – spend some time doing relaxing things. Leave Charlie in charge at the diner and disappear for a few days. See a Reds game, eat something he hadn't cooked, have sex, just...

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His last relationship had ended with his boyfriend leaving him a letter of apology and his keys to the house on the kitchen table. Last he heard, Mark was in New Orleans, having the time of his life. It wasn't like Dean had ignored him or anything, it was just – well, the hell with it. His mother had told him that love that weathers the bad or rough times was love worth keeping. That which can't, will never last. Dean just felt he was owed more than a letter of good bye left in the kitchen while he was working and he didn't see until he came home late, after a day filled with customers who seemed twice as demanding as usual. That had been almost six months ago. 

“Dean? You still awake?” Sam's voice called from the doorway.

“Yeah, Sammy. What's up?” Dean gave his brother a smile.

“Just checking on you. You've been working too hard lately.” He ambled into the room and sat down on the foot of the bed. “I was worried I might find you up and pacing again.”

He huffed in reply. “I'll be fine, Sam.”

“Liar.” He leaned over and ruffled his big brother's hair, like Dean used to do to him when he still had a head full of it. “You need time off. You're going to make yourself sick if you keep going on like this.”

“I can't take time off, I've got....”

“Don't start with me, Dean. These past few months it seems you've done nothing but work and take care of me. I'm not totally helpless, big bro, I can have a friend stay with me or something while you go off and relax.”

Dean snorted. “I think if I went off to relax, I'd spend my time worrying about you.”

“You see, that's what I'm talking about. You don't need to worry about me because I'm doing far better than I was.” Sam grinned. “It's leukemia, Dean – and the treatment is working. Come this Christmas, I'll be back to being a regular pain in your ass instead of a sick pain in your ass.” 

He managed a weak chuckle. “It's my job to take care of you.”

“Yeah, and part of taking care of me is taking care of yourself so you can continue to do so.” He straightened his shoulders. “Do I have to put on my dad face and order you to take time off?”

His chuckle turn into a full-fledged grin. “That depends, do I get to put on my mom face and tell you to it's bedtime?”

Sam laughed. “You always were better at this game!”

“That's because your sport is swimming and not psychological warfare..” Dean leaned over and hugged his brother. “We'll both get some sleep and discuss this conversation of me taking time off and you having a baby-sitter in the morning.”

“I don't need a baby-sitter.” Sam got up and slowly walked to the door.

“Okay. Then we'll just refer to them as the person who's going to make sure you don't set the microwave on fire... _again_.” Dean could barely contain his laughter.

“Hey! I was nine years old when I did that!” His brother replied indignantly.

“Yeah, and you've had to be supervised in the kitchen ever since.” He retorted.

“Jerk.” He went into the hallway.

“Bitch.” He replied, yawning halfway through.

*  
Gabriel scanned his daily planner, wondering how he would have ever kept track of anything if it wasn't on his I-Pad. The rest of his week wasn't nearly as bad as yesterday had been. He was getting ready to close down the app when an alert popped up on the screen, reminding him that his trip to the unfortunately named town of French Lick was in a month. He let out a sigh. Just the idea of going on that trip was enough to relax him. He went twice a year and it was always revitalizing. A full body massage, a soak in the hot spring and turning his work cell off for nearly three days was just what he needed. Granted, he usually got some odd looks from the groups of women who seemed to frequent the place, but he didn't care. He shut the device off just as the phone on his desk buzzed, announcing the arrival of his nine o'clock appointment. 

He stood and went to the door, his face all business as he opened it. “Good morning, Bela.”

“Morning, Doctor Armstrong.” She strode straight past him, dumping her bag on the floor and sitting down heavily on the couch. He'd barely gotten the door shut when she started. “That bitch got my phone number.” 

Gabriel went back to his desk. “I take it you've already talked to the phone company about getting it changed.”

“Yes, but it still doesn't change the fact my mother got my phone number!” She took a deep breath. “Now I've got to put my cousin on the list of people who can't contact me!” She folded her arms and sat back against the couch. “I can't fucking believe she did that! She knows why I don't want to talk to my parents!” 

He folded his arms on his desk and took a breath. “Perhaps your cousin accidentally left the number lying around, or your mother borrowed her phone for some reason.”

“I don't give a shit how it happened, what mattered is that it happened!” She threw off her heels and stood up, starting to pace across the room. “I mean, where the hell does she get off, thinking she can be a part of my life? She knew what my father was doing and didn't stop him! She wouldn't let me get help, even when I had teachers who knew and she'd go and deny everything like our lives were a fucking VC Andrews novel! I don't know what makes me angrier, the fact that she wouldn't testify against my father in a court of law or the fact that she let it carry on for so long.” 

“She didn't suggest you come back to England, did she?” Gabriel knew that the last thing Bela needed at this point was to see either of her parents.

“Oh, you want to hear the best bloody part of the call?” She came over to the desk, her eyes blazing. “She thinks because that sick bastard is dying of prostate cancer and because he happens to be the owner of the sperm that's responsible for me being here, I need to see him before he dies. He can die this very second and rot in hell for all I care!” 

“Bela..” Gabriel sat back in his chair slightly. “I agree that going back to seeing him or your mother would be unwise. Unfortunately, often the abusers fail to see that they are doing anything wrong. This is what usually happens when the abuse happens within the family. It's when it's done by a stranger that it becomes wrong. It's taken the justice systems a long time to see abuse is abuse, no matter the relationship between the two parties is.”

“Well, that's a crock of shit if I ever heard one.” She went back and sat down on the couch, frowning. “I think I'm just going to have to cut everyone in England off. I'll probably be a much happier person.” 

“Do any of them know where you live here in the States?” Gabriel didn't want to take too many chances with his patient.

“Not really, and I do have restraining orders on both my parents.” She frowned. “They probably couldn't point to Kentucky on a map, let alone Louisville.” 

“Well, that's good. Speaking of know-it-all's, is that co-worker of yours still giving you grief?” He folded his hands on the desk, watching as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“No, she got fired after she sold an authentic painting at a copy's price.” She snorted. “Just because you're some nineteenth American painter who only a handful of people have heard of doesn't make your work worthless.”

“Didn't you tell me all forged paintings in that gallery are clearly marked on the back of the frame with an orange dot?” 

“They are.” Bela sighed and pulled her shoes back on. “Guess she forgot to check... like she forgot to add two zeros to the end of the price tag.”

“It's one less annoyance for you you.” He opened up a folder on his desk. “I was looking over your records this morning and I want to know how you would feel about going from daily sessions to three times a week.”

“You think I can do that?” She sat up. “There's hope I'll come out of all this and be normal?”

“There is no such thing as normal. But the fact that you came in here and wanted help and not pills to make you forget your problems proved you wanted to do something about what was wrong.” Gabriel set his pen down. “What do you say we continue on this week with every day, and next week we try it every other day. See how that goes.”

“Sounds good.” Her face fell slightly. “You remember that when you go on vacation, I don't want to see Doctor Milton. There's just something about her I don't like.”

“I know. Do you mind seeing Doctor Tran?” 

“Isn't he just fresh out of med school?” She gave him a look. “Then again, he's not as creepy as Doctor Adler. That's fine.”

“All right. I'll see you tomorrow.” He gave her an expectant look. “And what aren't you going to do today?”

Bela stood up, shouldering her bag and smiling. “I'm not going to kill myself. Because I'm a bloody amazing woman who just happened to get assholes for parents.”

*  
Sam decided that rather than tell his brother take a break, he'd _make_ his brother do it. Thankfully, when it came to his brother and his brother's mental health, he didn't have to look any further than the assistant manager of the Orion Diner, Charlie Middleton. He knew she wasn't scheduled to work since it was Thursday, he waited until an acceptable hour to call her. Of course, acceptable for Charlie on her day off was after eleven in the morning. 

He settled down at the kitchen table with a notebook and pen and hit her number on his cell. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hey Sam.” She sounded a little groggy. He checked his watch – it was nearly noon. “What's up?”

“Hi Charlie – I didn't wake you up, did I?” He leaned back in his seat.

“No, didn't wake me up, I'm just sorting through my laundry and my coffee hasn't started working yet.” She let out a small curse and there was a swishing noise. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing's wrong. I'm wondering if you could help me do something.” Sam braced himself for the woman's reaction.

“I can try and help – what's going on?” There was a clang as he guessed she shut the lid to the washer.

“I need your help to get Dean to take a break.” He took a breath. “He's wearing himself out. I can tell he is.” 

“Well, you know your brother, it's hard to get him to stop going seventy miles an hour.” She sighed. “Although I do agree, he does need some time off. I think he knows it too – but he always has this letting go thing.” 

“Yeah. But I think we may have to skip telling him and make him go someplace.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just for a weekend, or something.”

“If we're going to do that Sam, we need to do it before the Derby. There's no way he'd leave the diner that weekend. It's one of the busiest.” There was another sound which he couldn't place.

“Yeah, and the last thing he needs is to have a meltdown that weekend. You know this area better than I do. I've spent most of my time either home, on campus or at the hospital. What's around here that you think would be good?” Sam got up from the table and went to the fridge, pulling out one of the orange bottles of medication stored there. “I know he's been down to the Jack Daniel's Distillery a few times already.”

“I know, he brought me back a bottle of Southern Comfort, the sweetheart.” He could see her smile in his mind's eye – that infernal little look that made him wish she liked guys.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I think you're the only one who thinks of him as a sweetheart.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?” She laughed. “I thought I made it clear, he's my sweetie and you're my baby.”

“Charlie.” Sam growled as he opened the bottle and shook out a pill. “I'm being serious here.”

“So am I.” A tapping sound. “There's a resort spa up in Indiana, I've been there once or twice. He might like that.”

“Dean? At a spa?” He nearly laughed.

“Oh come on, like who doesn't want a massage, a revitalizing mud treatment and...” She stopped talking abruptly and he had a feeling she'd blushed. “Of course, just the name of the town ought to make him laugh all the way there.”

“I doubt that.” He filled a glass with water and took the pill, wincing at the foul taste that followed and quickly washed it down.

“Of course he will. The town's called French Lick.” 

Sam grabbed the counter and gulped for air, spluttering. “Okay, okay... he'd laugh at that – at least halfway there.”

“I can handle things at the diner while he goes away. Will you need someone to stay with you?” There was a shuffling sound he couldn't place.

“I'll manage that. I can ask a friend to come stay.” He set the glass next to the sink and went back to the table.

“We don't have to worry about you throwing wild parties, now do we? You know your brother would have a coronary if he came back and found that house trashed.” Charlie snickered. 

“Who am I going to invite to a party? There's only about twenty people I know that I'd want to invite to one and seven of them work at the diner.” Sam sat back down. “You think I can arrange for this to be a late birthday gift for him? I don't remember much about January except being cold and shaving my head. Everything else is a blur.”

“Shouldn't be too hard.” She cleared her throat. “I think our biggest problem will be surprising Dean.” 

“I'll look into the place and a few other details.” Sam rubbed his eyes as the drugs started to kick in and a wave of nausea swept over him. “Charlie, I've got to go.”

“I understand. You take care of yourself and if you need help, don't hesitate to call me.”

“Thanks.” Sam hung up the phone and slowly made his way towards the bathroom. Hopefully, it was a false alarm and his breakfast would stay put.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean suspected his assistant manager and brother were up something – most likely about their plans for their convention trip in September. If he didn't have a diner to run and people counting on him, he might have asked if he could go along. He could throw together a Captain Jack Harkness costume and spend Labor Day weekend forgetting about his problems. But if he and Charlie both went on vacation, that would mean leaving Castiel Novak in charge. Cas was a man who underwent, as he called it, an 'involuntary career change' and still had bouts of panic attacks brought on by too much stress. Dean didn't want to know what sort of extreme stress the man went through as a stockbroker, he figured it was better left unasked. Leaving him in charge on a holiday weekend with both him and Charlie a plane ride away – that was just asking the man to have a nervous breakdown on their behalf. 

“Dean? The Pepsi guy's here.” Becky called into the kitchen. 

“Thanks.” He replied, looking up from the griddle as the transferred the western omelet onto a plate, and put it onto the transaction counter. “Table two's order is ready.” He hit the small bell and then went to the back door, where the delivery man was waiting. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” The man replied and handed him an invoice. 

Dean scanned it quickly. “Looks right.” He stepped back to let the man come in with his dolly of boxes of syrup for the soda machine.

“These still go in the same place?” The man gave him a warm smile.

“Yes, unless I somehow got more storage space overnight and no one told me.” He followed the man to the dry storage room, double checked what was brought in with the invoice and then signed it. “Thanks.” 

“Welcome.” The man headed back for the exit and left. 

Dean went back to the transaction window and looked out. The diner was mostly empty this time of the morning and he wiped his hands on his apron before stepping out and going to the counter. He took down the white board that hung on the wall and deftly wiped it off and started writing down the daily offerings for soup and dessert. He'd just hung it up when the door jingled and he heard the sound of heels clicking on the tile floor. He turned around and gave the woman, who looked to be around his brother's age, a welcoming smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” She set her purse on the counter, looking somewhat flustered. “I am in need of something that is either really fattening or really sweet – possibly both.”

“I can cook you some french toast and double the powdered sugar on it.” Dean took a pad out of the pocket in his apron. “Or if you want to skip sweet and go straight to fat, I suggest the glorified hash browns.”

“What's in those?” The woman set a shaking hand on the counter. “Could I get some coffee first, please?”

“Sure, right away.” Dean turned, quickly filled a cup and set it in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She took a drink from the cup and the shaking settled a little, but the saucer still rattled when she put her drink back down. “I'm fine - I'm sure I'll be fine once I eat. What's in those hash browns again?”

Dean didn't even pause, even though he'd never told her to begin with. “Hash browns, your choice of bacon or sausage, onions, peppers, cheese, salsa and a fried egg.” He frowned. “Are you sure you're fine?”

“I'm just freaking out a bit.” She took a deep, calming breath and then put her hands on her mug to steady her. “I think I'll go with the french toast - that come with bacon?”

“Yep.” He scribbled her order down on the pad. “I'll get that right out for you.”

“Thanks.” She took a drink of coffee. 

He went back into the kitchen and started on her order, occasionally glancing out to check on the woman as she sat drinking her coffee. He'd seen enough drunk, hung over, stoned and strung out on who knew what college students to know she mostly likely wasn't on something. It was a more of a 'the bottom just fell out in my life' sort of nerves. When her toast was done, he liberally coated the dish in twice the amount of powdered sugar he normally would and brought it out to her. “Can I get you anything else?”

The woman looked at the plate and smiled. “That looks perfect.” She shook her head. “I think I'm good.” 

Dean nodded and went back into the kitchen, leaving her check with her. He started prepping things for lunch, knowing that some kids from UK would be down before eleven thirty and the rush wouldn't stop until around three. He heard several of his workers come in through the back door and he quickly got to work chopping vegetables. Busy days were his favorite. They kept his mind off other things he didn't particularly want to dwell on. Back when Sam first started chemo, Dean longed for days of almost non-stop work. It was just – well, it was almost relaxing in a way. 

Things were better now. Sam was getting ready for that last round of treatment and then they'd begin that long climb upward. His brother would make it, Dean was positive of that. Perhaps, just perhaps, it wouldn't be seem so bad if all of his brother's California friends, the ones he'd never shut up about at holidays, the camaraderie and of course, the girls, had promptly vanished the moment he'd gotten sick. If they had been true friends, they would have been falling over themselves to bring his brother to Louisville. They'd be calling to check on him, they'd be visiting, they wouldn't have just backed off as if leukemia was contagious. 

Sam's newer friends were, in Dean's opinion, better people by far. A lot of Sam's friends were Dean's friends as well. Dean hadn't made many friends in culinary school. It had been rather a rather bloodthirsty place, many of them knowing they would do battle against each other for jobs and awards. He'd fallen into that category of student who already had a place lined up for them upon graduation. The heirs to family run businesses banded together in what was the closest the school had to a fraternal order. The rest of the students fought in subterfuge and backstabbing. 

He was so engrossed in the rush and work of the day that when he looked up and saw it was nearly three in the afternoon he was shocked. “Where does the time go?” He put the grilled cheese sandwich he'd just finished cooking onto a plate and carried it to the transaction window. When he looked out, he saw the diner only had a few occupants left – the afternoon lull had begun. He sighed, shook his head and went to hang up his apron. 

*  
“I want to find my dad.” Emma's voice made Gabriel start. She almost never volunteered information.

He looked up from the Scrabble board. “You've never mentioned your dad before, Emma.”

The girl shifted in her seat. “My mom almost never talked about him. He wasn't uh... he wasn't one of the congregation.”

“I see. Do you know anything about him?” He put down the word _dwarf_ and calculated the points.

“Like I said, my mom didn't talk about him. She just called him one of the unwashed... that's what people out of the congregation are called.” She rubbed her nose, frowning. “An unwashed man with eyes the same color as mine.” She gulped a breath. “I used to wish he'd come and save me from the congregation – but I don't think he knows I exist.”

“I'm sure he would have come for you, had he known.” Gabriel replied, sitting back in his chair to watch her. “What would you do, if you found your father?”

“I don't know.” She put down _free_ off the end of his word. “I mean, I know it's not his fault and it's not like I'm expecting it to be all Hallmark Hall of Fame movie of the week where everything works out and before you know it, I'm the most popular girl in my school and...” She took a breath. “I just want to know that I'm not going to end up like my mother.”

“I'm pretty sure you won't end up like her.” Gabriel watched as she folded her arms and rested them on his desk. “What?”

“The kids at school give me a hard time because I'm so behind in my education. My foster parents are making me watch educational stuff that's for _babies_ to try and catch up. I _know_ a lot of the stuff on those shows. If anything, it's making me angrier. I go to school, and on days I don't see you, I see an educational therapist and _she's_ the one who told them to have me watch those shows. I'm _eleven_ years old! I'm not a baby!” She stood up and began to pace the room. “It isn't fair!”

“Have you tried explaining that to them?” He had a feeling the game was over for the session.

“I have, but they think I want to remain stupid! What is wrong with this foster care system? I thought they were supposed to care about kids!”

Gabriel slowly nodded. “Do you want me to mention this to your social worker?”

She stopped, confusion on her face. “You mean you don't already? I thought they all knew!”

“You're my patient, Emma. Our conversations are considered private by the law.” He folded his hands. “Now, if I was concerned you might harm yourself, I would be obligated to interfere.”

“But the court thing...” She grasped the back of her chair. “How does that....”

“I'll give a general overview of your psychological state to the court. Nothing personal.” He took a breath. “I'm your doctor, Emma. It's my job to see to your psychological and, to some extent, your physical well being. If you want me to give your social worker an earful, I'll do it as soon as we're done here. But I can't promise that if they remove you from your current home they will place you in a better one. It could be worse.”

She flopped down on the couch and folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe I do want the storybook ending. Maybe that's why I want to find my dad.” She turned her head towards him. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Gabriel sighed softly and rested his head on his hands, looking at her. “You've been through things no child should, Emma. If you want a happy ending, that's not surprising. But I'm going to caution you not to get your hopes up if, by some way, you are able to locate your father. People rarely live up to expectations.”

She took a breath. “There's always dreams.” She sat up, her mood completely changed. “So how do you think I can go about getting out of watching _Dora the Explorer_? Because seriously, she's starting to creep me out.”

He stared at her. “That's a show for toddlers.” He turned over to a new sheet of tablet paper. “I think it's time you went to reading. It will help with your school work far more than so-called educational television ever will.” 

**  
Despite his brother's incessant teasing, Sam wasn't a terrible cook. True, compared to his brother he was awful, but he at least considered himself above average. The fire in the microwave when he was nine was from him not knowing at the time you didn't put Styrofoam into the device – and forgetting to take the spoon out of the bowl didn't help matters either. But that was a long time ago and now he was able to cook most things, provided he had directions. 

People used to give him strange looks when he told them that he was ten years younger than his brother, and that there were no siblings in between them. It was sort of weird, Sam had to think at times, but at others, it was great. He'd been too young to really want to hang out with Dean when he'd lived at home and by the time his big brother departed for culinary school, it was a moot point. When his brother came home for holidays however, it was awesome. Dean was the first person to take him to an R rated movie – _8 Mile_ – causing Sam to become the coolest eighth grader at John Brown Middle School. It'd been hard when Dean had moved away to Louisville. Harder than his brother going to school – it meant Dean wasn't coming home. He went to Palo Alto alone a few years later, and then – then their parents were gone. If he hadn't gotten sick, he most likely would still be out there. But deep down, he was glad to be here, in Kentucky, living with his brother, who still occasionally treated him as if he was still an annoying little ten year old baby – instead of the grown man he was.

The wonderful smell of the lasagna cooking nicely in the oven brought him back to the moment and he double checked it. He got the dressing for the salad that was ready and waiting in the fridge out and set them on the table, he glanced at the clock, hoping Dean wasn't going to be late getting home. Charlie had assured him that she would chase Dean out of the diner by four thirty. 

“He's going to call this way too damn corny.” He shook his head. “He'll just have to deal with it.” He heard the garage door opening and he breathed a sigh of relief. Charlie had managed to do what she said she would. 

“Damn it Sammy, I told you not to play around in the kitchen!” Dean barked as he opened the door from the garage and stepped into the room. “Tell me you remembered to take that lasagna out of the box!”

“Of course I did!” His brother's voice was full of mock anger. “Right after I turned it upside down!”

Dean shook his head and grinned. “It smells good Sam, you didn't have to make dinner.”

“Well, it was my turn and you can only eat so many bologna sandwiches.” He leaned against the counter. “How was your day?”

“Long.” Dean went and washed his hands. “Now, Charlie chased me out of the diner this afternoon, saying that there was something I needed to get home in time for.” He frowned at his brother. “Is there something I should know about?”

Sam waved his hand toward the table. “It's on your plate.” He went to get the salad out of the fridge. He heard his brother go across the room and fumble with the envelope he'd left there.

“What the hell is this?” 

He came over and set the bowl of salad on the table. “It's your time off, Dean.”

“Sam.” Dean set the packet down. “This is -”

“Exactly what you need. You've been working almost non-stop and when you're not working, you tend to be taking care of me. It's _before_ Thunder Over Louisville starts, so you can get all nice and rested up for one of the busiest times of the year.” Sam said, folding his arms.

“This is too much, Sam.” Dean sank into his chair. “Seriously, this...”

“For fuck's sake Dean, it's a weekend getaway to a spa, not a cruise to the Greek Isles.” He came over to the table and sat down. “Charlie and I both agree, you need this time off and we're telling you to go. Or do I have to get her over here?”

Dean set the packet down. “Please no. I've already had one stand off with her today and I don't want another one.” He started to dish himself up some salad.

“What was it about this time?” He took the tongs from his brother and got his own serving. “It's not the tofu thing again, is it?”

“No, she's over that.” He shook the bottle of blue cheese dressing before opening it. “This one was surprisingly about me leaving at a reasonable time.”

“Guess she won that one.” He poured a light amount of Italian dressing on his salad. “Oh crap, I forgot to get bread.”

“It's okay Sammy.” He picked up his fork, smiling. “This is great, thanks.”

“You're welcome.” He grinned and also began to eat.

**

Gabriel let himself into his loft apartment, feeling drained. His vacation could not come fast enough now. It was two weeks away and it seemed to be forever at the moment. He took off his coat and laid it over the chair, sighing softly. He lamented not stopping to get something to eat, but the prospect of going _back_ out was just too much right now. After discarding his shoes he let his feet lead him into the kitchen. He fumbled through his basket full of take-out menus, wondering if he ought to just say the hell with it and have some cereal for dinner when he remembered that he'd forgotten to get milk at the store on the way home. “This is insane.” He took the menu for a local noodle shop and went to sit down at the table. “Add that to my ever growing to-do list.”

That infamous to-do list was a constant plague to him. It was the reason the loft was still only part-way furnished, the reason he hadn't completely unpacked everything, despite living here for almost three years, and the reason he usually forgot what he needed to pick up on the way home from work. Thankfully, he'd yet to come home and find he'd run out of toilet paper. 

It was pretty sad when you knew the psychological damage you were causing yourself and at the same time telling other people to take care of theirs. One of these days, he was just going to say the hell with it and tear through that list. But first, no, there couldn't be a but first. He had to stop procrastinating and just do it. This weekend. He'd get through a bunch of things this weekend. He would get organized, get his loft together and maybe, once his home was together and maybe after his vacation he could, as his mother always called it, get back into the pool. It'd been years since he was in a relationship and he didn't want to do the one-night stand thing. He'd seen the effects on people's minds enough to know he didn't want to have it or be the cause of it. Trouble was, his work kept him so busy...

“I really am good at making excuses.” He scanned the menu and pulled out his cell phone. “Perhaps I need to date a fellow workaholic and at the end of the day we can sit down to a dinner of take-out and then fall asleep on the couch every night.” That actually sounded pretty good to him at this point. “Shame the Orion Diner doesn't deliver.” 

**  
Dean was a little annoyed that Sam and Charlie had gone behind his back to get him to take time off, although he knew that he shouldn't be too surprised. It was just the sort of thing the two of them would do. Now that it was going to happen, his stress level had already fallen some. Just knowing that there was going to be a weekend without working – and not being at the hospital – was a load off of his mind. Of course, finding someone to watch his brother was another story. Sam insisted he didn't need anyone to stay with him – he was nearly twenty one, after all – but Dean wasn't going to let his little brother get away with that. 

“Earth to Dean.” A voice snapped him from his thoughts and he looked up from his paperwork.

“Afternoon Castiel.” He replied as the assistant manager of the Orion Diner came into the small office. “Please tell me you haven't come with news of some impending disaster.”

The slightly older man laughed. “No, no disaster. I just want to declare my innocence in Charlie's recent scheme to get you to go on vacation.”

He snorted. “I know you are. If you'd been involved, I'd probably be on my way to a bed and breakfast in Vermont, or something.”

“Please.” The man sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Sending someone who's single to a bed and breakfast for a vacation is a little like giving an all expenses paid trip to tour all the breweries in Germany to a recovering alcoholic.”

“You think you and Charlie can manage to get along for one weekend?” He gave his friend a stern look. “I'm more than willing to let Lena break up your fights.”

“It's not that bad.” Castiel leaned back in his chair. “It's a generational thing, that's all.” He frowned. “And since when is Lena the amazing wonder cook all that threatening?” 

“Oh, Lena's not scary.” He smirked. “That six foot six, two hundred pounds of muscle of a fiance of hers, however, is.”

“I - wait, Lena's getting married?” He stood up and started to pace, looking agitated. “Is, uh... oh...”

“Cas, calm down, she just told me last night.”

“Sorry.” He fell back into his seat. “It's been a rough week.”

“Do you need a vacation too?” Dean offered. “I'm more than willing to let you have one, you know.”

“I -” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm okay. I just - I'm always worried I'll be the last one to find something out when I should have been among the first.”

Dean shook his head. “Don't worry, if there's something you need to be informed of, I'll tell you ASAP.”

“Thanks.” He took a few deep breaths. “I'm better now.” He managed a weak smile. “Any upcoming menu changes I need to be aware of?”

He rested his head on his hand and gave Castiel a wry smile. “I am now ready to hear your monthly argument on adding a veggie burger to the menu.”

“Oh come on, I've not brought that up since November.” He replied, indignantly. “I was right about the potatoes for the fries, wasn't I?”

“I will give you that. The thing is, those veggie burgers don't change color when you cook 'em. How are you supposed to be able to tell when it's done?” Dean chuckled.

“You need a new argument for that.” Castiel ran a hand through his hair. 

“You need to bring me a tasty veggie burger before I'll even consider adding it.” Dean went back to his paperwork. 

**  
Charlie set her overnight bag down on the bed in the guest room at the Winchester's house. Sam was still insisting that he didn't need someone to watch him, but honestly, she agreed with Dean. She was there just in case something happened – she was far too attached to the two brothers to have something happen to either of them. They were more or less the only family she had. She was an only child and her parents died when she was in junior high. Of course, she sort of felt she was doing double duty, keeping an eye on Sam and on Castiel at the diner. But with Cas it was more like she was there to back him up, rather than babysit. She was there to be the bad guy since letting _him_ be the bad guy could turn ugly.

She took out her hygiene kit, set it on the bed and then went downstairs for a final check with Dean – and to chase the man out of the house. Honestly, it was a weekend, not a month long trip to the Mediterranean. Dean was in the kitchen, scribbling a few things down on a notepad. “You need to get out of here, you'll want to beat the traffic.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean straightened up and picked up his suitcase. “Sam knows his medication regimen. Don't forget to cover him up with a blanket if he falls asleep on the couch and -”

“If we have a wild party, don't make the house too clean or you're going to know what we were up to.” Charlie grinned and folded her arms. “Don't worry, we'll be fine.”

He made a face in response. “That's not what I was going to say. Tell Sammy he can't play video games unless his homework is done.”

She laughed. “Do I need to check it to see that he did it right?”

“I don't know, what do you know about Pre-law?” He shrugged. “And remember – he can't have any booze due to his medication.”

“Will you get going?” She stood, arms akimbo. “Or am I going to have to throw you to French Lick?”

“I'd love to see you try. I'll see you Sunday.” Dean went out into the garage. A few minutes later, Charlie heard the trunk shut and the engine roar to life and then the garage door shut. As soon as she could no longer hear the Impala, she walked over to the fridge, smirking. She swung the door open and laughed.

“Can't even trust me to cook, can you?” She shook her head at the sight of all the labeled containers of food, ready for her and Sam to eat this weekend. She shut the door, still chuckling. “You can't make us eat it.” Her mind was already on having pizza if Sam was up to it – and the two of them having a movie marathon. 

*  
Gabriel pulled his SUV in next to a classic looking, shiny black car. After getting out and shouldering his bag, he took a better look at it. It was a Chevrolet Impala, but he wasn't sure of the year. He noted that interior was almost spartan clean, and admonished himself before he got too deep in a psychological profile of the owner. He had to stop doing that in a lot of cases. He was going to spend his time relaxing this weekend and not thinking about what mental issues his fellow spa-goers had. He stepped into the lobby.

The fresh sent of lilacs alone reduced his stress level. 

He walked across to the front desk, relieved that there wasn't a line. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, sir.” The woman gave him a smile and he noted that her name tag read 'Lydia.' “Checking in?”

“Yes.” He took out his wallet. “Reservation is under Armstrong.” He handed her his credit card. 

“Yes, sir.” She started clicking away on her keyboard. “Ah yes, here you are.” She looked up. “Would you like a print out of your itinerary?” She handed the card back.

Gabriel already had a copy of his schedule, but it wouldn't hurt to have an extra. “Yes, thank you.”

“Not a problem.” She went back to typing.

“Shuttles to the restaurants haven't changed, have they?” 

“No, sir.” She replied and handed him his room key and itinerary. “You're all checked in to Room 534. If there's any problem, or something you need, please don't hesitate to call down to the front desk.”

“I won't.” He shouldered his bag. “And thank you again.”

“You're most welcome. Enjoy your stay.” 

Gabriel went over to the elevators and let out a sigh of relief when he let himself into his room. He put down his bag, set down the key, papers and then emptied his pockets on the dresser. He then went over to the bed, spread his arms out and fell backwards onto it, closing his eyes as the memory-foam moved under his weight. He kicked off his shoes and let out a breath. “No worries but what to eat.” He chuckled and repeated the phrase, already feeling at least eighty percent better.


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean woke up in the morning, he glanced bleary eyed at the clock and then burrowed his face back into the pillow. The long practice of waking up early in the morning to work at the diner had made it next to impossible for him to sleep later than six. But, thanks to a night-time sleep aide and the lavender aroma-therapy pillows, he had managed to make it to the unheard of time of eight-thirty. He stretched out, wincing as he heard a few joints pop. He grunted slightly, rolled onto his back and stretched again. He was definitely going to have to look into getting some of this memory foam for his bed at home – and some for Sam as well. This stuff was freaking' amazing.

Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head and reached for the itinerary that the woman at the desk gave him when he checked in. Hot breakfast was served downstairs until ten and he was scheduled for some kind of tub soak at ten thirty and a massage sometime after that. Dean had no idea what the hell the tub soak was for – but in addition to sending him off on this weekend, Sam and Charlie had also scheduled him for all these treatments. “Guess they must have been worried I'd lie in bed and watch TV all weekend.” He rose from the bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower.

The shower was another luxury. The water was plenty hot, the pressure was incredible and – well, the rain-shower head alone was wonderful. The lack of someone pounding on the door yelling at him to hurry up or that he was wasting all the hot water was great too. He tilted his head upwards into the wonderful spray, relishing in the sensation of water coursing down his face, chest and back. With his eyes closed, it was so easy to just let go. He ran his fingers through his hair, almost laughing as he felt the tension melt further away. Dean had promised his brother and Charlie he would do his best not to feel guilty, pressured or anything while he was on this vacation. Sam kept insisting that he deserved this break, that he needed this time off. He supposed that his little brother's demand that he enjoy himself should lead to more guilt, and it probably would...

Dean shook his head and straightened up. Orders were orders – stop worrying and relax. 

*  
Gabriel had just taken a drink of orange juice when he saw him walk into the dining room. He couldn't make out a lot of details from where he was sitting – other than the man was tall and well built. There was also the fact that he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, when most of the people in the dining room, himself included, were wearing nicer clothing. Then again, since this was a place where people came to relax, if part of this guy's deal was to wear comfortable clothing – fine with him. Then again, he didn't think he owned a pair of jeans – and the only t-shirts he had were the ones he had for undershirts. The man walked calmly over to the table across the aisle from him and sat down.

“Morning.” The man said before turning his attention to the menu and Gabriel promptly turned his attention to the book he had brought along. He did notice that the man had no ring on his left hand – so that at least meant he wasn't married. Gabriel silently admonished himself – for all he knew the guy had a fiance or something. 

“Morning.” He replied and returned his attention to his book. There was something familiar about the man, but he wasn't certain what it was. He stole a few glances back across the isle, finally able to identify the shirt as one of the ones that the University of Kentucky released last year during March Madness.

Gabriel was having trouble staying focused on the book he was reading. It was fiction and he'd not read fiction in a long time – and it was hard to get into the story. He was seriously considering just forgetting to try to read and people watch instead. For a place that was supposed to be relaxing, he never quite remembered that meals were sort of stressful. Plenty of the people here had companions or friends to talk to – and why he was suddenly so stressed that he was alone, he had no idea.

“Here you are.” The server had returned, carrying a plate that he set in front of him. “Can I bring you anything else?”

He looked down at his breakfast of an omelet, fruit and toast. “No, this looks wonderful, thank you.”

“You're welcome. Let me know if you need anything else.” The server turned to the man across the isle. Gabriel casually listened as the man across the isle ordered coffee and asked what fresh fruit compotes were currently in season. By the time the man had ordered a Belgian waffle with a blackberry compote with a side of bacon, Gabriel had given up reading at all and kept his focus on his food. It was easier than try and read, eat, and covertly watch the solitary man. 

So now he was eating and glancing across the isle in a way that had to be obvious to the man. How utterly foolish. He was halfway through his eggs and his uncounted glances when he heard a soft chuckle. He looked up from his plate to see the man, elbows resting on the table, his chin resting his hands, watching him with unabashed amusement. Gabriel flushed and the man chuckled.

“I haven't had anyone stare at me like that since culinary school.” The man grinned, and Gabriel noticed that he had freckles. “Now the question is, should you be embarrassed that I caught you and called you out on it, or should I feel embarrassed at not knowing what drew your attention?”

Gabriel knew he went a shade closer to scarlet. “You are not funny.”

The man grinned. “I think I'm hysterical.” He picked up his coffee cup, clearly enjoying Gabriel's discomfort. “It's a vacation, relax.” 

“You're insufferable.” He said more to his food than to the man.

“You think I'm bad, you should meet my almost-sister.” He grinned. “She makes me look tame.”

“Why don't you be a good little boy and eat your breakfast, instead of bothering the adults around here?” Gabriel snorted.

“Certainly. As long as you stop staring at me.” The man replied and turned back to his food. 

He seethed in reply. Rude, arrogant, adorable stranger who knew how to push his buttons without even trying. Well, he would grant the man a point. He _had_ been staring and gotten caught. But still... most people would have had the good sense to be awkward about the situation. Then again, if the man wasn't angry... 

Well, at least that confirmed he hadn't just met someone who was grossed out by him... Gabriel went a even deeper shade of red. Who exactly had been flirting a minute ago? Him? The man? Both of them? This wasn't the sort of thing he planned to have happen on vacation. Sure, maybe people watch and have a few fantasies, but not this. Not an irreverent man who couldn't even dress properly for a formal dining room flirt with him.

And yet he was blushing like a teenager at what had happened. 

Gabriel looked up from his empty plate to find that the man had already left and he let out a sigh of relief. The place was rather big and odds were he would only see the man again in passing, if at all.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

He glanced at his watch and inwardly cursed. He had a schedule to keep. He really should stop keeping a strict routine on vacation. It was supposed to be relaxing and not stressful.

*

Sam woke up on Saturday feeling suspicious. Well, maybe that wasn't the right word, but after waking up countless mornings feeling drained, sick, or just plain lousy, waking up and feeling none of those things was unsettling. After pulling on a pair of sweats and knocking back his morning pre-breakfast medications, he went down into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and frowned. “I miss Lucky Charms.” He pulled down the box of raisin bran. “But this works.”

Charlie stumbled into the kitchen, her hair in utter disarray. “We are never doing that again.”

“What?” Sam busied himself with making a bowl of cereal.

“Watching a full season of _Game of Thrones_ followed by a season of _Doctor Who_. I had the worst nightmare of that bastard Jeoffry getting a hold of an army of daleks and...”

“Oh come on, Charlie, the daleks would lock that asshole up in their asylum before they blew it away.” He shook his head. “Or they'd just kill him outright for thinking he could give them orders.”

“Well, you try telling your brain that when you're avoiding weeping angels.” She went over to the coffee pot. 

“I'm sure the margaritas didn't help you much either.” He snorted.

“Hey, I made you a pitcher that was alcohol free, what are you saying, Sammy? That I can't hold my liquor?” She snapped, shaking her head.

“Drink some coffee first, see if that turns you back into a human.” He took his cereal over to the table.

“Ha ha.” She picked up her mug from the drying rack near the sink. “I'm going to have to go check the restaurant this morning, make sure Cas hasn't burned it down and is afraid to call and tell me.” 

“I think it's more likely he's said something to offend Harry or made Becky cry and now Dean needs to replace one of them.” He chewed his cereal thoughtfully as Charlie poured her coffee and came over to the table. “If there's anyone who could stand to read more fiction, it's Cas.” 

“He's not that bad. He just...” She took a sip of coffee, shuddered and put the mug down. “I think it's the whole meltdown thing he had. Not to mention he has a bit of an issue of people complaining how bad their lives are, when really they aren't.” 

“Well, then it's a good thing he decided to go with working in a restaurant and not teaching.” He grinned and saw that Charlie was doing the same, before he turned serious. “Well, he might have managed a preschool, until someone skinned their knee and cried like it was the end of the world.”

“That's because to a four year old, that is the end of the world.” She took another drink of coffee. “That, and missing _Team Umizomi_.” 

“How do you know about that show?” He only knew about the show due to watching it a few times in the hospital and being too tired to bother changing the channel.

“I couldn't sleep.” She chuckled. “And it was better than watching an infomercial on some miracle fat burner.” She paused. “Speaking of Cas, what sort of meltdown does a tax accountant or whatever he was have?”

“I don't know. Quite frankly, I think in Cas's case, it's better not to ask.” He turned his attention to his cereal.

*

Dean leaned back against the towel he'd arranged on the side of the hot tub, and let his feet float upwards to peek out from the wonderfully warm churning water. The woman who'd given him the foot massage had asked him if he wanted a pedicure, most likely expecting him to say no. Well, to have someone else take care of his feet was quite the luxury and so he'd accepted.. However, he decided not to have his toenails painted a bright shade of purple, even though he'd been tempted. Instead, he had a clear coat of polish and white at the tips. If Sam said anything about it when he saw them, well – Sam had plenty of embarrassing photographs and Dean knew where all the negatives were. 

He let out a long breath and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. The tub had reminded him of that hydrotherapy thing Sam had from time to time. No wonder his brother looked forward to it. Dean had never liked taking Sam to the doctors or the hospital for anything – he still had the abject fear that on one of those visits, they'd get the worst possible news. 

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.” A voice caused him to open his eyes and he nearly laughed. It was the guy from the dining room. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He adjusted himself in the water, smirking. “There's more than enough room in here, if that bothers you.”

The man smirked at him as he set down a towel and shed his spa robe. The guy was shorter than him and slightly stocky. He was neither fat nor muscled, and if he was to use a word, Dean would say he was average. But was adorably average. He closed his eyes again as he heard the man enter the water and he put his feet down, feeling his foot brush against the man's. “Sorry.”

“It's all right.” His companion replied. “Been a while since I've played footsie with anyone.”

“If you want to play that, I could stand for a game or two..” He opened his eyes to look across the tub at the man. “Although the last time I played that game, Charlie kicked my ass.” He grinned. 

“Is Charlie your girlfriend?” The man asked, flatly.

Dean laughed. “Hardly. She's just a friend.”

“A good friend?” The man said in a tone Dean didn't entirely care for. 

He glared. “Charlie is one of my best friends. She's like the sister I didn't ask for. She's also my employee. Our relationship is about as platonic as you can get. We also know how to keep things professional between us. The footsie thing was more a case of 'I'm not sharing this ottoman, buster.' Besides, Charlie doesn't like guys.” He shifted in the water and closed his eyes again. If the guy said something nasty, he could punch him and be done with it.

“Tense much?” The man snorted and he was about to speak again when the jangle of a distant cell phone echoed towards them. “That's not yours, is it?”

“Nope. I turned mine off. If there's an emergency at home, Charlie knows the number of the front desk.” Dean grinned faintly. “Not yours either, I take it?”

“I seem to have lost mine after turning it off as well.” He snickered as a woman shrieked a few yards away and then began yelling at whoever was on the other end of the line. “I suspect someone's in serious trouble.”

“I bet it's something really minor.” Dean chuckled. “Like the function of a can-opener.”

The man smirked. “Honey, do we have pans to cook with?”

He laughed outright. “Does that date on the milk matter?”

“How many kids do we have again? I know it can't be twenty!” The man said in a perfectly confused voice.

“I hope you don't mind, I told my old college friends they could stay for a few weeks.” Dean coughed once to recover from his laughter. “And here I thought this was going to be a nice, boring afternoon.”

“Odds are, that woman was expecting a quiet afternoon.” The man shook his head and sank into the water up to his chin. 

“How much you want to bet every woman who was in the tub with her immediately got up and turned their phones off, if they hadn't already?” 

“I don't gamble – unless I know I'm going to win.” The man covered a yawn. “I should have done that towel thing you have there.”

“Well, it's not like your towel is that far away.” Dean shrugged. 

“That would involve moving.” He replied. “And this water is too warm to leave.”

“Get no argument about that here.” He rolled his shoulders. “I'm Dean.” He leaned out across the water, offering to shake the man's hand. No need to sit here acting like idiots without introducing themselves.

The man took his hand and shook it. “Gabriel.” He gave a sort of shrug. “I know, it's a bit old fashioned.”

“Given some of the names people are giving their kids these days, Gabriel is good.” He sat back. “What do you do for a living, Gabriel?”

“I'm a psychiatrist.” He replied, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “In Louisville.” 

“That must be interesting.” Dean replied. “Though I don't know much about it.”

“There are days when I don't think I know that much about it either.” Gabriel let out a sigh and shifted his feet under the water. “So what do you, Dean?”

“I'm the owner and head chef at a restaurant in Louisville. The Orion Diner.” 

The older man's head came up. “I've been there. You have very good pie there.” 

“Thank you.” He grinned. “You should try the french toast.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He sank down in the water until it covered his shoulders. “Sweet, high-carb breakfasts are one of the reasons I could never go on the Atkins Diet.”

He snorted. “I could never do it either – I love Italian food.” He closed his eyes, feeling a little more of the tension ease away. “Psychiatrist, huh?”

“It's a long story.” Gabriel said, taking a breath. “Although I will say it makes talking back to reality television a lot more fun at times.”

“I can imagine. I yell at people on Food Network constantly. My brother says I should be on _Chopped_. But knowing my luck, I'd open a basket to find fish fingers and custard.”

“And you watch _Doctor Who_.” He shifted in the water. “Your brother didn't come with you, did he?”

“No, he's at home.” He sighed. “My brother is the who said I needed a vacation.”

“Older or younger?” He asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Younger.” Dean frowned slightly – he hadn't noticed until now, but Gabriel's foot was right next to his under the water. “By ten years.”

*  
Charlie and Sam arrived at the diner to find out that despite the utter lack of a throng of customers, Cas Novak wasn't in the best of shape. Sam couldn't understand how a man could become so unhinged after just one day without his brother around. Then again, this was Cas and he was probably terrified of messing something up. Since it was a slow afternoon, Sam volunteered to take the counter orders so Charlie could get Cas back to a functional state of working.

The few people in the place were Pre-Derby folk, from the looks of them. Lots of flannel, denim and weary traveler expressions. At least they weren't picky eaters. If it had been the middle of the week, Sam wouldn't have been surprised by the woman in the suit who walked in, a grim expression on her face. “This can't be good.” He made his way over to where the woman stood waiting, next to the register. “Good afternoon, welcome to the Orion Diner.” 

“Thank you.” The woman cleared her throat. “I'm looking for Dean Winchester.”

Shit. “I'm afraid he isn't in today, if you would like, I can relay a message for you.” What did this woman want his brother for? Was Dean in some kind of trouble and hadn't told him about it? It'd be just like his brother to do that. 

“Are you a relative?” She looked him over like she couldn't believe he was standing upright. Well, it wasn't exactly his fault he'd dropped seventy pounds in the past year. 

“I'm his brother.” He frowned. “Is there a problem?”

She held out a sealed envelope. “The details are inside.” 

He took it, tentatively, glancing at the return address. It was a law firm. What the fuck was his brother involved in? “Thank you.” He shifted on his feet. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I am fine.” She held out a tablet. “I need you to sign this.” 

He quickly signed his name, glad that his hands weren't shaking to terribly. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” The woman turned and walked out the diner. 

“That was weird.” He took a second look at the envelope before taking it into the back and stuffing it into his pack. Maybe it was nothing for him to worry about, but he had a feeling that wasn't the case. Law firms didn't send couriers out on Saturdays for small matters. 

**  
“What do you think it's about?” Charlie stared at the certified letter, still unopened, sitting on the kitchen counter. “I know it's not about the diner, because he would have told me.” 

“I just don't know what it _could_ be about.” Sam frowned. “You'd probably know more than I would. You don't think that ass of an ex-boyfriend of his has some kind of issue, do you?”

“Please.” She folded her arms. “That man couldn't find a piece of ground the size of a postage stamp to on in a court of law.” She frowned. “That can't be it, and I know this house is paid off.”

“Can't be a will.” He slid into a chair at the table and stared at it. “You think we should open it?”

“Ah ha! I knew you could sound like a snooping little brother!” She grinned and sat down across from him. “Besides, if a lawyer comes in to your brother's diner and serves him papers, as his brother, you have a right to know.”

“He'll probably be pissed.” He sighed. “I mean...”

“Dean will be home in twenty hours. You think you can wait that long?” Charlie glanced at the return address. “I tell you what, let's look this lawyer up, then we might have an idea what it's about, without actually opening it.”

“That works.” Sam pulled his tablet out of his backpack. “I feel like I should know this name...” He looked at the envelope again. “Wainwright and Suskin – I know I've heard of that law firm.”

*

Clothes lay scattered in a trail across the floor of Gabriel's room. He was rather proud of the two of them, keeping their hands off of each other until they were inside the room and out of sight of anyone who might be shocked at the sight of anyone making out in the corridors. Even more so if it was two people of the same gender. Not that he really blamed them; he stuck to the philosophy of not doing anything in public that you wouldn't want to see your grandparents doing. He propped himself up onto his arms and looked over at Dean, who was still catching his breath. “And here I thought I was tense.”

“Oh you were definitely tense, Gabe.” He turned his head and looked at him. “I just haven't done this in a while.”

“You think I have?” He fell back down onto the bed, resisting the urge to giggle. “I'd never have pegged you for being so...” He struggled to find the right word to describe him.

“I think it's the fact that what we are intimately is the opposite of how we are in public.” He let out a long breath. “I'm just glad I got that massage _today_ so I don't have to explain any funny looking marks _tomorrow_.” 

“I imagine the people who do those things have seen plenty of funny looking marks and who knows what else that they probably wouldn't say anything.” He sighed. “You don't strike me as the impulsive type.”

“Being impulsive can be dangerous. Besides, it's not like we both got drunk before we stumbled in here.” He shrugged. “I tend to get corny when I get the urge to be impulsive. I mean, the last impulsive thing I did was on Valentine's Day – I gave Charlie flowers because I knew no one else was going to be giving them to her. And...”

“I'd say that's a case of being a considerate person, rather than impulsive.” Gabriel rubbed his head, rose up on his arm and kissed him on the forehead. “and I also think that's very sweet.”

“It's corny.” Dean sighed and closed his eyes. “Maybe it's just that I like for other people to be happy.”

“And do you like to be happy?” He replied in an odd tone, admonishing himself in his mind for pulling on his doctor hat. He didn't want to starting getting analytical on this, not now, and definitely not with someone he just met today. So what if they had just spent a few hours having really amazing sex? 

“I'm happy when others are happy.” The younger man cleared his throat. “Okay, that sounded corny.”

“I don't think so.” He meant it too. “You're a complex person, Dean Winchester.” He scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm over his side and pulling him close. “You don't mind snuggling, do you?”

“I haven't had a good snuggle in nearly five years.” He winced. “And that sounded really, really pathetic.”

“I think it sounded sad.” Gabriel gave him a tight hug, resting his head between his shoulder-blades. “Don't worry, I don't snore.”

“Neither do I.” He yawned and pulled the covers tighter around the two of them. “You're a very good snuggler.”

“So are you.” He let out a tired sigh. “Get some rest.”

Dean snorted into his pillow. “Yes, doctor.”

In response, Gabriel laughed. “You think you're pretty funny, don't you?”

“Yup. I'd offer to cook you breakfast in the morning, but I don't think they'd let me into the kitchen.” He closed his eyes. “Perhaps some other time?”

“Another time would be good.” He let out a yawn. “Details later, for now, sleep.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gabriel left the spa after Dean did. He wasn't too sure why the man was rushing back to Louisville, when they still had several hours left in the weekend. But he had the promise of seeing him this coming Friday, pending any disasters, so there was something to look forward to. That was an odd concept in and of itself; having an almost date. He set his bag down near the door of his bedroom, took his phone out of his pocket and, steeling himself up and turned it back on.

The small device nearly exploded from the amount of messages – a grand total of seven hundred and twenty four. 

“Did every other psychiatrist in the city vanish or something?” He shook his head and started scrolling through them. Since he hadn't been paged to the desk over the weekend, he knew none of the messages were emergencies. When he noticed that the majority of the messages were texts, he frowned and checked something. “I knew there was something I forgot to turn off.” He sat down at the counter and started deleting Twitter update notifications. “If this is my phone, I'm glad I'm not on Facebook.” He shook his head. “At least my mailbox was almost empty.” 

The good news was that despite the appalling number of messages, there weren't any emergencies or fires to put out. The closest to any major problems was Chuck calling to say that he wanted to switch appointment times to the morning instead of the afternoon; and then stated that was when the angels wanted to talk, and if he was busy, the angels wouldn't bother him. Gabriel felt awful for the guy, who in addition to schizophrenia was a recovering alcoholic and drug user. It was because of later two he couldn't prescribe the poor man any medication that might help him. Although he was amused at the end of the man's rant calling Doctor Adler a judgmental asshole. 

Well, Gabe knew that, but he wasn't going to subject Anna to the young man's madness. She'd grown up in a pastor's home and that was just – no. Chuck didn't need someone with that much religion in their background helping him. Not that he thought the woman would encourage him, but he didn't want Chuck to turn on her and become violent. 

The message from Emma was highly amusing, calling Kevin Tran a baby and Bela saying almost the exact same thing. Bela just threw in some highly colorful adjectives as well. 

Sighing, he got up from the counter and went over to his couch and collapsed on it. He wasn't even back to work yet and already he wanted to go back on vacation. Well, there was this coming weekend, although what he and Dean were going to do, he had no idea. It'd been so long since he'd been on a date, he had no idea what there was to do. He didn't even know what movies were out in theaters right now. Well, they'd work it out. 

“It's a good thing I finally got everything organized around here.” Gabe smiled to himself. It was true. Last weekend, he'd buckled down and finished unpacking the boxes and getting his loft organized. It was amazing just how much stuff he'd forgotten about; such as the fine china (his grandmother's) and the missing half of his books; the fiction he was certain he'd accidentally donated to the Goodwill. Not that he was planning on bringing Dean here Friday, and he sincerely doubted that he would be visiting Dean's place either. Perhaps they should keep things simple and do dinner out somewhere. 

Something Italian would be nice. 

*  
Dean stared down the document, not certain if he should scream or not. Sam and Charlie were both dying with curiosity about it, and he was very, very glad they hadn't opened it themselves. He had done his very best to expunge the memory of Lydia Crowe from his mind, and now here it was, twelve years later and she was back in his life again; well, sort of back. When he'd met her, they had both more or less been kids, college students. She had the distinction of being the last woman he'd ever dated. She started hanging around with these weird people on campus, who just oozed cult from their pores. He'd tried to dissuade her from hanging out with them, but she'd told him he didn't know what he was talking about and promptly vanished a week later and he never heard from her again.

Until now.

The cult she'd apparently joined had been busted by the FBI for suspicion of child abuse and possible terrorism. Dean could barely remember Lydia anymore and thought that was a good thing; and now here it was, almost twelve years later and he needed to submit to a paternity test to confirm if he was the Dean Winchester who'd fathered the woman's child, Emma. He didn't even want to know what was expected of him beyond that. Was he going to have to take the child in? Would he even be asked to? This was crazy.

“Dean?” Sam's voice called from the doorway. “You all right?”

“I'm fine Sammy.” He let out a breath. “You need something?”

Sam came into the room and sat down in the chair near the bed. “Yeah, what's wrong you?”

“Nothing's wrong.” He looked up and saw his brother's frown. “Well, not... I don't know how to explain what's going on.”

“Try.” He folded his arms, glaring at him.

“Here.” Dean held out the court document, figuring it could do the talking better than he could. The emotion of rage was settling on him. If he _was_ this girl's father, he was furious at Lydia for keeping her from him. Sure, he'd have been just as ill-equipped to raise a child as she was at their age, but he'd have been able to give the girl a better support system than a bunch of people who thought their leader was the Second Coming and was readying for who only knew what. 

“Fuck.” Sam's voice cut into his thoughts. “You think...”

“I'm almost positive it's the same Lydia Crowe I dated for a while.” He let out a breath. “You never met her.”

“What happens, I mean...” His brother made a face. “This house is big enough for another person.”

“Sam...” His brother wasn't going to suggest she live here, was he? “She's probably settled into... oh, this just...”

“If she is your kid, Dean, you can't leave her with foster parents, mom would come up out of her grave and drag you back with her if you didn't.” Sam frowned. “And I'm getting better, it's not like you won't have help.”

“I don't know anything about being a parent!” He barked.

“You're awesome at being a big brother. How much different can it be?” Sam gave him a puppy look. “Come on, it'll be fine. Charlie can have someone new to fuss over and maybe she'll leave us alone for a while.” 

“I wish I shared your enthusiasm over the situation.” He stood up and stated to pace. “I...I'm just pissed at Lydia, that's all.”

“I'd say you're well within your right to be.” Sam took a breath. “But if that cult thing got into her head, it's not like it's entirely her fault.”

“I feel like it's my fault because I didn't do a better job of getting her to stop hanging out with those psychos.” He ran a hand through her hair. “And who knows what they told the kid.”

“I think the important thing is that she isn't there now.” He shrugged. “And maybe she won't stay with us all the time, maybe just weekends, or something. We'll see, right? Isn't that what you always told me about planning on things happening that we had no real control over?”

“My brother, the optimist.” He held his arms out. “You realize when she visits, you can't walk around in your bunny slippers and boxers anymore.”

“It was the medication!” Sam interjected and stood up. “And for the record...”

“Sure it was the medication – and the sugar. The sugar didn't help much.” He gave his brother a one armed hug. “I'll go in for the test, then we'll see what happens. For all we know, the kid just wants to meet me or something.” He gave his brother a stern look. “We're not telling Charlie about this until we know more details. Knowing her, she'd go straight to Lowes, get some cans of paint and start on the guest bedroom.”

“She's going to ask, she saw the envelope...” He frowned. “And we looked up the law firm online, she knows they deal with family cases.” 

“Then we'll tell her we don't know what it's all about just yet.” Dean sighed. “Remind me, where did I find that woman?”

“Comic Con four years ago.” Sam replied, flatly. “She was cosplaying as Hermione Granger and you were dressed as the Eighth Doctor.” He frowned. “What ever happened to that coat anyway?”

“I've still got it.” He made a face. “Why do you ask? I know it's too small for you.”

“Hey!” Sam pushed him away. “I'm thinner than you are!”

“And you're also taller, Moose.” He gave his brother another hug. “Go get some sleep. You need it.”

“Don't remind me.” Sam made a disgusted face. “I hate chemo.”

“I know you do.” He sighed. “Night, Sam.”

“Night, Dean.”

**

Gabriel set the Scrabble box on his desk as Emma came into the room and shut the door behind her. “Good afternoon, Emma.” 

“Afternoon, Doctor Armstrong.” She slid into her chair, folding her arms and resting them on the desk. “What's up?”

“Someone's in a good mood.” He sat down. “And that's usually my question.” 

“Well, I'm taking your advice and trying to be more sociable.” She sighed and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Although I'm not sure I'm going about it all that well. The kids at school look at me like I've grown another head.” 

“All the kids or most of the kids?” He settled into his own chair, watching her.

“Most of them.” She pushed the game box away and pulled a piece of paper closer to her, along with the box of crayons. “Does everyone who comes in here like to color, or something?” She took out a pink crayon and started to draw.

“It's cathartic.” He smiled. “I tend to take a coloring book and crayons on the plane with me when I fly.”

She gaped at him. “Why?”

“People don't bother grown men who sit and color on a plane. After the flight attendant hands over my soda, they leave me alone.” He smiled. “I hate to fly and it keeps my mind occupied better than a regular book.”

“I suppose.” She switched from the pink crayon to a green one. “I've never been on a plane.” She looked up. “I started reading another one of the books you recommended.”

“Which one?” He scribbled down a few lines in his notebook. 

“ _The Hobbit_.” She frowned. “I don't think my foster parents approve of fantasy novels.”

“What makes you say that?” He looked up. “Emma, is something wrong?”

“They wouldn't let me read _Harry Potter_. I don't know why.” She put the green crayon back and selected the yellow one. “I mean, it's just a story.”

Gabriel inwardly sighed. The last thing Emma needed was another set of adults filling her head with ideas that were either incorrect or horribly misinformed. He never could understand the people who felt that some fantasy novels were fine while others were evil. “I can't control what your foster parents do, Emma.”

“I know.” She set the crayon down and looked up at him, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I'm scared, Doctor Armstrong.” 

He pushed the tissue box closer to her, his expression turning serious. “Emma, I'm going to ask you some questions and it's very, very important that you answer me honestly, understood?”

“Yes.” She took a tissue and clutched it in her hand.

“Do you think you're in danger in your current home?” He gave her the most solemn look he could manage, shoving his emotions down. 

“I...” She swallowed. “I'm more scared... I...” She sniffled. “I'm worried that I'll make them mad, or...” She hugged herself. “They used to beat us when we were bad. I don't like raised voices... and it's the little things... I don't...” 

“Take a deep breath, just one deep breath, Emma.” He watched as she inhaled, her shoulders shaking slightly as she then exhaled. “That's good.”

“They don't want me.” She hiccuped. “I hear them talking when they think I'm asleep.” She took another deep breath. “They're such fucking hypocrites.”

He was stunned at her language. “Emma?”

“They had a party Friday night. Mrs. Addison gave me a tray full of food and then told me to stay in my room with the door locked and the dresser pushed in front of it.” She took another breath. “I could hear them downstairs.” She made an ugly face. “It was disgusting.”

It was all he could do to keep from screaming. “That's not something you should be hearing – or even knowing about.” He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, locked away in a room while the so-called responsible adults engaged in activities she shouldn't know about. “You have my number, why didn't you call me?”

“They took my phone.” She took another breath. “They didn't give it back to me until I got out from school this afternoon.”

“Well, I think we need to put an end to this bullshit.” He checked something on her file. “Did Mrs. Addison or your social worker, it's Miss Baker, right? Which one of them brought you here today?”

“Miss Baker.” Emma leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “Mrs. Addison had to go _shopping_.” She gulped. “Am I going to get into trouble?”

“No, Emma.” He stood up and headed for the door to go and get the girl's social worker from the waiting room. “But the Addisons most likely will.” 

***  
Dean decided that the only good thing to come out of his weekend away was meeting Gabriel. With Sam starting another round of chemo and the paternity test, along with the start Thunder Over Louisville and the countdown to the Derby next week and thus the diner was almost constantly packed, the attempt to rid him of stress had been for naught. He supposed if he didn't have to wait for the results of the test for nearly two weeks, it would be a lot easier. Why the hell it took two weeks, he had no idea. There was something about point markers and other such nonsense that went over his head – he'd not had a biology class since high school. It seemed like it should be something fairly easy, especially since Lydia told them who he was. How many Dean Winchesters could there be in this world, or to hell with that, in the United States – and from Kansas, no less. But if they only had one lab that could do the testing, he had no problem if the DNA needed for violent crimes came before his. He just hoped the kid in question was safe and sound, regardless if it was his child or not. 

Dean leaned into his brother's room. “You need anything?” 

Sam looked up. “I'm fine.” He gave him a slight grin. “You haven't come to confiscate my DS, have you?”

He laughed. “No, if you want to spend your evening playing video games and sitting in bed, you're more than welcome to do so.”

“You look...” He frowned. “My brother going out on a date.”

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing?” He glowered at him. “You're just used to me wearing a chef's coat and not an actual button down one.”

“It's _green_.” He smirked. “And isn't it, I dunno, sort of...”

“ _Mom_ got me this shirt.” Dean snapped, effectively ending the argument. 

Sam's shoulders slumped. “Oh... sorry, I... I forgot.”

“It's not like I wear it all that often.” He let out a breath. “You have your cell handy?” 

“Here.” He leaned over and picked it up from the bedside table. “I'll be fine, Dean. Now run along or you're going to be late.” He wagged his finger at him. “And don't stay out too long, you have work in the morning.”

“Shut it.” Dean grinned and headed for the door, picking up his own cell from the kitchen counter when he grabbed his keys. 

*  
“Sorry I'm late.” Gabriel said as he slid into the chair across from Dean. “Traffic.”

“It's okay, I just got here a few minutes ago.” He offered him a small grin. “Who knew Friday nights were so busy in this city?”

“I know – at least this explains why delivery is so slow on Friday nights.” He shook his head. “I've also never been here before.”

“Le Gallo Rosso? Seriously?” Dean blinked. “And here I thought I needed to get out more.” He shrugged. “I also figured this would be one of the few places that wasn't going to be packed with out-of-towners.” 

“Is it me or does Derby week just sneak up on all of us?” Gabriel sighed. “I'm just glad I never get a call from some trainer asking me to come down to Churchill Downs to find out what's bothering his horse.”

Dean bit back a guffaw. “Don't say that, it might happen now.”

“Well, then I'll refer them to a veterinarian.” He shook his head. “I can't imagine what a class on animal psychology would be like.”

“Do they even make Prozac for horses?” He took a drink of water. 

“Not that I'm aware of.” Gabriel let out a breath. “I don't even know how a horse could be diagnosed with a mental disorder.”

“I imagine if they were gelded they could develop one.” Dean smirked over his water glass.

The older man covered his mouth to hold back his laughter. “That's awful!”

“But you laughed.” He frowned. “The one who would need the most help is the person who gelded a horse and then said horse won the Triple Crown.” 

“No shit.” He looked over the menu. “You've been here before, what's good?”

“Gorgonzola penne is one of my favorites. Italian is one of the foods I always think tastes better when someone else cooks it.” He shook his head. “Even if it's my brother putting a Stouffer's Lasagna in the oven.” 

“I'm a horrible cook.” Gabriel set his menu down. “I think the most complex thing I can make is a salad.”

“From scratch or from a bag?” He took another sip of water.

He grinned. “Scratch.” He took a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table and buttered it. “How's your brother?”

“He's fine.” Dean rubbed his temple. “All things considered.”

“Something wrong?” There was genuine concern in his voice. 

“He had another round of chemo this week, so he always feels like shit afterwards.” He tore at a piece of bread. “But, typical Sammy shooed me out the door the best he could this evening.” He saw that Gabriel was gaping at him. “What?”

“You didn't mention that your brother had cancer.” He paused, thinking. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right, he's doing an excellent job of kicking the thing's ass.” He rubbed his wrist. “The prognosis is good and the doctors say he should be back to his mostly normal self by the end of the summer.” 

“That's good.” He took another sip of water. “I suppose we might as well play twenty questions...”

“That works.” Dean was eager to discuss something other than his brother's illness. He thought for a moment. “Favorite book?” He bit into his slice of bread.

“By genre or all time?” 

*

Gabriel put his leftovers into his fridge and took out a bottle of beer. He felt like the date had been pretty decent, even if they couldn't arrange for a time to see each other again this weekend. Dean had to work and stated he'd be too tired to want to do much afterwards. He opened his beer and walked to the large window that looked out over the city. He didn't think that the man was lying, but perhaps what shook him up about it was that the last time he remembered dating, there wasn't nearly as much real-life interference. He took a drink from the bottle and sighed. At least their relationship wasn't stalled on lack of common interests – they could find things to do together – watch baseball, eat, visit a museum or just relax; it was finding the time to do it. 

He was just about ready to settle down and watch a movie when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and grinned before answering. “It's past your bedtime, Dean.”

“That's my brother's line, Gabe.” He cleared his throat. “I know I said I couldn't do anything more this weekend, but I was wondering if two Saturdays from now you'd like to come over and watch the Reds game with me, Sam and a few other people. Not really a date, per se, but uh...”

“I could go for some baseball.” He grinned. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Yourself, uh, if you want to bring a bag of chips, or something – but you don't have to.” Dean coughed. 

“I'll think of something.” He replied, already looking forward to next weekend. “I'll call and check with you for details later in the week.”

“Sure.” There was a pause. “Is it me, or is this whole dating as a grown-up thing really awkward?”

He laughed. “No, it's not just you.”

*  
Emma parted the curtain of her new room at her new foster home. Mrs. Cooper wasn't exactly the grandmother figure of anyone's dreams, but she was a lot nicer than Mrs. Addison. At least, from what she could tell. At least the craziest thing that would happen in this house was probably an overzealous bridge party or a fight over quilting patterns. She sighed and sat down on the bed, hugging herself. 

Ever since the raid on the cult, she'd felt lost. It'd been nearly a year and still there was no peace in her head, despite all the therapy and such. People at school treated her like a freak. Adults gave her sympathetic looks that just made her want to puke. She didn't want pity and she didn't want condemnation. 

She sure as hell didn't want her mom.

Mom was - well, Emma wasn't sure where her mother was right now. She could be in jail, in a looney bin, somewhere – and it was highly unlikely they would ever see each other again. At least, not until she was eighteen. That was nearly six years from now. Maybe then she'd want to see the woman, but right now, her mom was the last person she wanted.

The lawyer who oversaw everything told her that they may have found her birth father, because apparently mommie dearest finally spoke his name. 

Emma still didn't know it. 

Doctor Armstrong told her not to get hopes up, but after the cult and the Addisons, she let herself have her own fairy tale about her dad. She supposed that most people in her situation would make things as elaborate as possible, but Emma knew a little better than to do that. In her mind, her dad had a house with plenty of room and he liked to cook. Since her mom couldn't cook and she liked to cook, Emma figured the love of food had to come from her dad. There was an amazing kitchen in the house and shade trees in the yard. Dad wasn't married, dad didn't have any other kids. Well, sometimes he did in her daydreams and other times he didn't. She hadn't decided which was better just yet. But there was a constant in all her hopes and wishes. 

Her dad wanted her to come live with him – and he wouldn't let anyone hurt or scare her ever again.

It was a nice dream to have.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean set the small mountain of paperwork down on the kitchen table and went in search of his brother. He had gotten all the necessary files from his attorney, but he wasn't going to begin to wade through it all without discussing the whole matter with his brother. While he knew Sam had wanted to come along with him to learn the results of the test, he'd had the last of his exams to worry about. He followed the noise until he found his brother, sitting on the couch and cursing under his breath at the TV as he played _Call of Duty_. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for Sam to finish the round he was on. 

“That sucked!” Sam fell back against the cushions, his face flushed. 

“You're supposed to play that game to get rid of stress, not cause it.” He chuckled and came into the room. “How was your last exam?”

“Fine.” He pushed a few buttons and then put the controller down. “What's the news?”

Dean sat down heavily on the other end of the couch. “Congratulations, it's a girl.” 

“Seriously?” Sam sat up, staring at him. “Dude...” He blinked a few times. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” He smiled slightly. “I'm supposed to meet her Monday.”

“That's... I don't know what to say.” Sam huddled into the couch and shivered. “Sorry, it's the air conditioner.”

“We can turn it off it bothers you that much.” He shrugged in reply. “It's not like it's insanely hot outside just yet, I can deal.”

“That's the problem – if we turn it off, I'll be too hot.” He tucked his feet up under him.

“Are you sure you're not going through menopause? Because I swear, with these hot and cold flashes, you're acting just like mom did when you were six.” Dean snorted. 

“Give it a rest.” He snorted. “Jerk.”

“Aw, shut up bitch, I've been gone all day and haven't gotten to give you a hard time since dinner last night.” He took a breath. “There's something else I wanted to discuss with you.”

“What is it?” Sam turned to look at him. “Is this about the kid?”

“Yeah. Her name is Emma. Lydia's parents are dead and she was an only child.” He rubbed his eyes. “It's a complicated mess, but I'm pretty much the only family she has that isn't tied to that cult.”

“That's...” Sam frowned. “Well, it's not like we don't have room, Dean.” 

“I know.” He took a breath. “I don't know how to be a parent, Sammy.”

“Well, you're an excellent big brother.” He pulled off his skull cap and rubbed the fuzz of hair growing on his head. “It can't be much harder.” He let out a breath. “And it's not like you have to do it alone, you've got me, you've got Charlie, you've even got Cas and Becky, the amazing neurotic wonder twins.”

“Becky isn't that bad.” He snorted. “She just needs to lay off the teenage vampire romances.” He rubbed his neck. “I just... I don't even know what I'm supposed to tell her about... and...”

“I think she'll probably accept the fact that her mom ran off and didn't tell you she was pregnant. If you had known, you'd have done something about it.” Sam frowned, folded his arms and put on his best John Winchester face. “Or Dad would have made you do something.”

“The hell Dad doing it, it'd have been Mom.” He fell back against the cushions and closed his eyes. “Anyway, like I said, supposed to meet her next week. Need to fill out papers, have a social worker visit the place, something like that.”

“At least you don't have to get a bunch of caps for the electrical outlets. You think they'll expect us to have a lock on the liquor cabinet?” Sam frowned. “Then again, what's in that thing these days?”

“A bottle of Baileys, two bottles of wine, that bottle of champagne we're saving for the day the docs say you're officially in remission and at least four types of any kind of bar glass you can imagine.” Dean shrugged. “You remember I got rid of a ton of it months ago.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at spot on his knee, frowning. “And it's not like this place isn't nearly spotless.” He slowly grinned. “One advantage to me being sick – this house is kept kept almost immaculate.” 

“One go around with the Dyson is about all we need.” He shook his head. “This is insane.”

“Yeah. We'll wait to do that until after the Reds game, right?” Sam slowly stretched. “You sure Gabriel is ready to meet your little brother?”

“Given what he does for a living, I don't think you're going to be an issue, Sammy.” He shook his head. “He _is_ a psychiatrist.”

“So he helps crazy people.” He stood up and ruffled his brother's hair as he passed. “And he's not charging _you_ anything.” He shuffled out of the room as fast as he could.

Dean rose to give chase, but he shook his head instead. “You need it more than I do, bitch!”

“Shut it, Jerk!” Sam called from the stairs.

**

Gabriel glanced at the scrap of paper where he'd written down Dean's address and then looked back at the house. It wasn't the sort of place he'd expected to find the man living in. He'd been thinking something akin to a bungalow or a shot-gun house. Instead, he found himself facing a brick three story home that was probably new before the Great Depression. There was almost no front yard, just a patch of grass that could be tended with a push mower. He went up the walk, noting that the crepe myrtle growing next to the small front porch looked as if someone had taken their aggression out on it, rather than giving the flowers an even trim. There was also a pine tree growing in a pot standing sentinel on the large step. “This can't be the right house.” He rang the bell, still certain that whoever lived here would be sending him across or down the street. A distorted figure became visible on the other side of the glass and iron covering the door and then it opened. 

“You must be Gabriel.” Standing there was a very tall and extremely thin man of about twenty. “I'm Sam.” He gave him a sheepish grin. “Let me guess – you didn't think this was the right place.” He stood aside to let him in.

“How could you guess?” He adjusted his hold on the dish he was holding. 

“It's what everyone thinks.” The younger man shrugged, “it's usually followed by; why is this place so damn clean?”

He laughed. “Well, since I know your brother isn't OCD, I wasn't going to say anything.”

Sam snorted. “You haven't tried to do anything in the kitchen then.” 

“I can hear you!” Dean yelled from somewhere in the house as the two of them walked down the hall and into the family room, where they found the man, checking something in a crock pot.

“You know I'm right!” Sam retorted. “I'm surprised you let me pour a bowl of cereal and milk in the place.” 

“Considering what you did to that innocent bag of carrot sticks...” 

“I was five!” 

Gabriel looked from one man to the other and then chuckled. “It's so nice to run into an amusingly dysfunctional family.” 

“We're not dysfunctional.” Dean retorted.

“Yeah. He just doesn't want to admit I'm not ten years old anymore.” Sam took the dish from him and took it over to the table.

“Oh, so you two _can_ agree on something.” He grinned. “How cute.” 

Sam let out an odd sound. “I already like him better than what's his name, Dean. You know, the douche who couldn't stand it when he ceased to be the center of attention?”

“Mark. His name was Mark.” Dean glowered at his brother. “And I don't need a lecture on my ex-boyfriends, young man whose last girlfriend freaked out and thought cancer was contagious.” 

The younger man fell back in a chair and folded his arms in a magnificent pout. “Angie didn't think cancer was contagious. She just...” He sighed. “Okay, she was a total ditz and it wouldn't have lasted even if I hadn't gotten sick.”

The doorbell rang, bringing an much needed end to the conversation. Gabriel turned. “I'll get it.” 

“Thanks.” Sam said from his chair and Dean said from the table.

“Weird.” Gabriel said under his breath and walked to the door, guessing that the next guest was probably Charlie. He had just reached the door when a voice sounded from the other side. 

“I told you to just go in.” 

“I didn't want to...”

He swung the door open, he knew the second voice. “Bela?” He saw the woman's jaw drop.

“Oh, you're Gabriel?” Charlie, whom he recognized from the diner looked from him to Bela. “You two know each other?”

“We're cousins.” He said, without thinking and saw relief on Bela's face.

Charlie frowned. “You don't look alike and you don't have the same last name...”

“The two clowns who live here don't look alike either, but they've assured me they're brothers.” He shrugged and stepped aside to let them in. “Since you know them better than I do, Charlie, you probably know what I mean.”

The red headed woman laughed and walked past them towards the back of the house. “Point.” 

Bela adjusted her hold on the dish she was carrying. “Cousins?” She said to him, under her breath.

“Would you rather go with the truth?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“No, no cousins is good.” She glanced at him. “Distant cousins?”

“Yeah.” He took a breath and they came into the family room. “I didn't even know you liked baseball.”

“Well, it is easier to follow than cricket.” Bela tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What, they didn't explain that sport right off in PE in grade school?” Gabriel chuckled.

“No, that was field hockey.” She managed a smile. “You need any help, Charlie?”

“I'm good.” She deftly opened a bag of tortilla chips. “Dean, Sam, this is my friend Bela – the one I was telling you about earlier.”

“Hey.” Dean replied, returning from the kitchen carrying a crock-pot. “It's been a long week so remind me, is Bela your LARPing friend or your book-club friend?”

“I'm the other queen of Moondor.” Bela answered before Charlie could. “We are in the middle of an alliance to overthrow the two kings and establish a matriarchy.” 

Sam snorted. “Charlie, do you have any _normal_ friends?” 

“Says the man who's going to dress up as the Doctor this September.” Dean interjected. 

*  
“You are the one who told me I should try and make some friends.” Bela folded her arms and glared at Gabriel from her seat across the desk. “And since I've have so many issues in my past, where better to make friends in a game where everyone is pretending to be something that they're not?” 

Gabriel set his pen down. “I wasn't going to say anything about your friends, Bela. I'm just surprised you never brought it up.” 

“Well, you know me and information.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I really do enjoy it and it's nice to let off some stress at the same time. I went to this _Doctor Who_ thing and I was dressed up as Ace and some idiot asked who I was supposed to be, and Charlie called the guy a heretic for not knowing anything about the Classic Years. She and I went to lunch, debated what the worst thing done to Colin Baker was and the rest is history.” She leaned forward to rest her arms on his desk. “And yes, I know she's a lesbian.”

Gabriel scanned his notes. “I remember you mentioning the convention – that was...” He looked up. “That was last October.” 

“It was that long ago?” She sat back, blinking. “Shit, here it felt like just last month.”

He gave her a half smile. “It was a rough winter for everyone.”

“Suppose it has.” She sighed. “I guess I should have brought it up, but... well... you know me. I mean, it took me around four months to go to the diner where Charlie works.” She slowly smiled. “By the way, have you had the french toast?”

“No, I've not been there for breakfast. It's that good?” He scribbled down a few notes.

“It's incredible – like I want curl up on the plate and drown in the syrup good.” She bit at her bottom lip. “Shit, now I want some.”

“I think the Orion Diner serves breakfast all day.” Gabriel sat up a little straighter. “I've been thinking things over and wanted to ask if you would like to join in a therapy group.”

“Aw, you're not giving up on me, are you Doctor Armstrong?” She grinned at him mischievously. “And you're so highly recommended, too.”

He laughed. “Aren't you the funny one?” He cleared his throat. “I'm not suggesting you stop coming here, I'm suggesting an expansion of your support group.”

“Well, I don't suppose it could hurt.” She stood up and started to pace. “It also might help me get out more.” 

“If you don't want to, that's perfectly fine. But I would not have suggested it if I didn't think you were up to it.” He gave her an encouraging look. 

She sat back down into her chair and folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I think I'd like to try. I mean, just go for one session, at least.” She sighed. “Aren't these things a little like AA? You don't have to show up for every meeting, or something?”

Gabriel nodded. “It's something like that. I've never been to an AA meeting, so I can't tell you for sure.” He took out his notepad and scribbled down the time and location of the group he'd found for her. 

“It couldn't hurt. It's not like I've ever talked to Charlie about all this.” She took the slip of paper from him. “And no, our relationship is _not_ like that.”

He chuckled. “I'm aware of that Bela. From what I've seen, the only way the two of you could be more platonic is if you were twins.” He was about to say something more when the timer went off. “Well, I hope you have a good day at work and all the idiots stay in for Monday.”

Bela laughed and stood up. “Right. Idiots stay in on Mondays.” She frowned. “Wait, it's not the holidays, they should be staying home and you have a nice day too – Gabriel.” 

“Oh, you finally decided to call me by my first name?” He stood and walked her to the door. “I've only been asking you to do that for the past eleven months.”

“Well, after yesterday, it'd be weird. I'm just surprised I got through the whole afternoon without calling you Doctor Armstrong.” She put her hand on the knob. “And don't worry, I won't be killing myself today – because after this weekend, there's no way I'm missing the party the Winchesters are having for the running of the Belmont.” She opened the door and left. 

Gabriel chuckled as he shut the door as the woman walked away. He knew that eventually he and Bela would have to come clean about the truth of how they knew each other, but right now, it didn't matter all that much to him. Everyone had their fair share of secrets. 

*

Dean noticed that his hand trembled as he pushed the button in the elevator for the fifth floor. He clutched his hand into a fist as the car started upward. He was going to meet Emma – his daughter. It was all a confusing mix of emotions. While he was the girl's only living biological relative, he couldn't assume legal custody for her for several weeks. There was that small mountain of paperwork and such, but both his lawyer and the social worker had assured him that the two of them would have the majority of the summer to get to know each other and bond. He'd need it – he didn't even know what the closest middle school to his house was. 

He adjusted his hold on the gift bag and scrapbook he and Sam had put together on the social worker's suggestion, that had photographs of family members and places that were important. Of course, dropping the news on Emma that her father referred to a diner and a car as his babies and her uncle was battling cancer weren't exactly endearing. Then again, after god only knew what bullshit Lydia had fed to her growing up, it might not be so bad after all. 

The elevator doors whooshed open and he felt his heart lurch as he stepped out. This was insane, all around hard to believe and at the same time – wonderful. The office he went into was non-descript with a very bored looking secretary typing away. She looked up when he came in, and gave him a once over. “Name?”

“Dean Winchester.” He cleared his throat. “I'm supposed to see Michael Cunningham.”

“Yes.” She picked up the phone and hit a button. “Mr. Cunningham? Mr. Winchester is here.”

Dean blinked. He was rarely called 'Mr. Winchester.' The woman waved him away from her desk and he had a seat in one of the chairs. 

The gift had been Charlie's suggestion. He swore that since he was her boss, any time they weren't in the diner, she took it upon herself to be as bossy as she could towards him; and Sam. It was comical to watch her and Sam play off each other like twins who were separated at birth because no parents on earth could handle the two of them at the same time. He wasn't sure what Sam thought of the way he and Charlie acted. But for all her bossy nature, she had refused to come with him to buy the gift. Twenty minutes in the Build-A-Bear Workshop had been horrifying and had him questioning his own sanity. But he'd walked out of the place with a dark brown bear with a large white bow tied around its neck. 

“Dean Winchester?” A voice said and he looked up. A middle-aged man in a suit stood in the corridor.

“Yes.” He stood and shook the man's offered hand. “How are you?”

“I'm very well, thank you.” He led him down the small hallway. “And yourself?”

“Not bad, all things considered.” Dean cleared his throat. “I wasn't given a clear indication of what all would happen today.”

“Today's just an initial meeting. I must thank you for being calm about the whole matter.” He shook his head. “It's been an awful mess with some of the others.”

“I learned a long time ago that freaking out doesn't do much help when life throws you a curve ball.” He shrugged when the man turned around to look at him. “It's true. I'll save my freaking out for minor things down the road.” He smiled faintly. “Like Emma's first driving lesson.”

Michael cracked a smile. “I think you are going to be just fine, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thank, and it's Dean. The only people who call me Mr. Winchester are busboys and girls on their first day of work.” He grinned as they went into a meeting room. He stopped short when a face appeared, looking at him from around her chair. Emma was small, blond and pale, and was staring at him with wide, green eyes. He didn't even know the door was shut until he felt a hand on his arm. 

Emma pushed back her chair and stood up – she was shorter than Dean originally guessed, looking to be closer to ten than twelve. She gave him a small smile. “Hello.”

Dean managed to return the greeting. “Hi.” He wasn't sure what to do next. Thankfully, Emma apparently decided to solve the problem for both of them by coming over to him and throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. He returned it, albeit awkwardly – her shoulders just cleared his ribcage. “Please don't cry, I won't be able to stand it if you do.”

She looked up at him and he could see she was fighting back tears. “Why's that?”

“I hate to see kids cry. Especially girls.” He hoped he wasn't about to start crying either.

“That's enough now, Emma.” A stern but calm voice broke into the conversation and the girl drew away, a look of disdain marring her features for only a moment. Dean looked to see a woman standing next to another chair. He had a feeling she wasn't the social worker. 

Michael Cunningham guided him over to the far side of the table to he could face the other occupants of the table. The stern woman, Emma, and a middle-aged woman who was making notes in a folder. “Well, now that we're all here...”

*  
Dean leaned against his Impala and pushed the button for the fourth person on his contact list. “Please pick up, please pick up...”

“Afternoon, Dean.” Gabriel's voice greeted him and he breathed a sigh of relief. “What's wrong?”

“Depends on your definition of wrong.” He watched as Mrs. Cooper, Emma's current foster parent and the girl walked down a different row of cars. “I'll just say this real fast, so you don't get the shock of your life. I'm Emma Crowe's father.”

Dead silence.

“Gabe?” His voice cracked.

“Fuck.” The man replied. “I mean, well...”

“I'm not familiar with all this legal jargon, I'm not Sam, but I'm just trying to...” He was fumbling for words.

“It's not a conflict, if that's what you're worried about. I mean, if you were also a member of that cult, or something... It's complicated, but it's probably not as complicated as you think.” He heard Gabriel take a deep breath. “I'm technically not allowed to do much interference unless I feel Emma's in danger. But I also can't talk freely about what we discuss, unless, again, it's something I feel presents a hazard to her physical or mental health. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.” Dean slid his fingers through his hair. “I think the biggest problem at the moment is who has to tell her that her shrink and her dad are involved with each other.”

“I don't think we need to tell her that right away.” He coughed. “I have to go, my three o'clock is here.”

“Sure. I need to get back to the diner before Cas accidentally sets it on fire.” He sighed. “I know he doesn't cook, but he might get it into his head to try.”

Gabriel snorted. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Sure.” Dean replied and he heard the older man hang up. “This is just... peachy.” He got into his car and headed back to the diner. 

*  
“I met him! I met him!” Emma burst into Gabriel's office with a sort of joy he'd never seen on the girl's face – he was actually surprised she was capable. He'd warned her when they started their search she had to be prepared for disappointment, but apparently, miracles did happen. He wasn't an integral part of the search, he was only told that Emma's biological father had been found and was willing to take custody of her. He was actually glad of that – he had a feeling that if it had been the opposite, the girl would have gone right back into the shell he'd spent the better part of the last year trying to break her out of . 

Of course, that was before Dean's phone call an hour and a half ago. Now he was surprised he wasn't in shell shock himself. He'd told Emma not to expect a fairy tale, but this was rapidly turning into one, or so it seemed. He had watched Dean with his brother this past weekend and how he took care of him. There was no doubt in his mind that the man would be a good father, but he didn't expect Dean to turn out to be the desperately wished for dad of a little girl his heart had been aching for with every nightmare she'd revealed. 

However, thanks to years of study and a few bouts in theater, he was able to keep his composure.

“That's wonderful!” He beamed at her as she took the seat in front of his desk. “So it was a good meeting?”

“It was great!” She set a scrapbook, along with a brown bear on his desk. “I've never had one of these before, I always wanted one, even when I was too big to have them.” She adjusted the plush animal's bow, her smile was wider than the Ohio River. “Not only that, Mr. Cunningham said that something to the extent of since the Department of Children Services has so many kids right now, they've expire.. what's the word for speeding things up like that?”

“Expedite?” Gabriel replied, scribbling a note in her file.

“That's the one! They're expediting the paperwork so I'll be able to go live with my dad the weekend after Memorial Day!” She pulled the bear into her arms and hugged it, and then her expression slowly calmed and her face twisted into a frown. “I keep thinking all of this is too good to be true.” 

“Or perhaps it's a stroke of good luck.” He gave her an optimistic look. “You want to pick numbers for the Powerball drawing?” 

She chuckled. “You're funny, Doctor Armstrong.” She fell back into the chair, still keeping her grip on the bear. “I don't think Mrs. Cooper likes him very much, but then again, Mrs. Cooper doesn't like many things. But she's a lot nicer than Mrs. Addison.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” He rested his head on his hand, watching her. “Why do you think Mrs. Cooper doesn't like him? Any man who finds out he has a child and is willing to take said child in within a month of learning can't be that bad.”

“I think she doesn't know that my mom ran off to join the cult and didn't even tell my dad she was pregnant.” She frowned. “Or it could have been the few stains that were on his chef's coat. I told you what a stickler she is for being clean and tidy.”

“So your dad's a chef then?” He was surprised at how easily he was concealing the fact that he already knew Dean.

“Uh huh. He owns a diner.” Emma's smile shifted slightly. “And I've got an uncle too, and a crazy aunt who dad says isn't related by blood. He said he made the mistake of feeding her and she wouldn't go away.”

Gabriel shook his head. That _sounded_ like something Dean would say. “Isn't this your last week of school?”

“Yeah.” Her smile faltered slightly. “I'm going to have to change schools in August.”

“Are you worried about that?” He jotted down another note on her file.

“A little. I mean, it's not like I love the school I'm at now, but... well...” She sighed. “I don't know.”

“I think that's normal for anyone going to a new school. Perhaps you can make some friends in your new neighborhood before then.” He glanced down at the scrapbook and then quickly looked back up. He wasn't going to mention it until she did.

“Oh!” She jumped up.

Damn. She'd seen his look. It wasn't that he didn't already know the people inside, it was a matter of keeping his face surprised for her sake. 

“I wanted to show you this!” She flipped the book open and showed him a picture of Dean, grinning from the food window at the Orion Diner. A plate piled with the most decadent looking french toast was next to him. “Not only do we have the same eyes, we've got the same smile!”

He looked up from the scrapbook and discovered that Emma was right.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a quiet night in the Orion Diner. The reason was clear as a late summer thunderstorm raged outside, the rain lashing against the windows, along with the occasional crash of thunder. At the bottom of the specials board, the words 'Please be advised we are under a tornado watch' were written in bold letters, but with so few people in the place, it probably didn't raise any alarm.

From his seat at the end of the counter, Gabriel nonchalantly dipped his fries into chocolate milkshake, scanning the patrons in the place like he had on that damp evening back in April. At the booth closest to him, Sam and Emma were doing homework. With the younger Winchester brother now in full remission, he was letting his hair grow long and it had reached a state where it downright shaggy. Emma, meanwhile, was coming out of her shell and had made vast improvements both socially and academically.

He wasn't her psychiatrist any longer.

It was a little too awkward for the both of them once Emma learned that he was dating her dad. It wasn't the gay thing, it was just – well, as the girl put it, weird. She now saw Doctor Tran, stating that _someone_ had to break him into the world of psychiatric medicine. Quite frankly, Gabriel was glad she now saw Kevin because the more he spent time with Dean, the more he couldn't believe how much the two of them acted alike, given how long they were apart. 

At the other end of the counter, Charlie was humming along with the radio while she rolled silverware and occasionally glanced up to check on the occupants of the diner, before going back to her work. Becky wasn't working tonight. Gabriel had noticed that the woman tended to make herself scarce if Sam was going to be around. Of course that may have something to do with the fact that Sam was dating Bela. He was pretty sure that Charlie regretted leaving the two of them alone one weekend with a large stack of classic _Doctor Who_ dvds. The only reason he knew that Bela wouldn't be in tonight was because of some major project at the gallery she was finishing up.

He ate another fry, watching Jim, sitting at another table type away at his laptop, frowning in concentration. He still wasn't sure what the man was working on. According to Dean, he was writing the next great American novel, but he had no idea what it was about. Gabriel covered a yawn, took a long sip of milkshake and turned his attention to his own laptop, working on research for a presentation in a few weeks, his concentration letting the noises of the diner fade away.

In the kitchen, Dean was cleaning the kitchen, singing softly along with the radio. The rain always kept people in during the summer and the snow, for some reason, brought people out in the winter. As he sprayed down the fry baskets in the sink, the steam from the hot water obscuring his vision, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

So many adjustments this summer – and all of them good for a change.

Being a father was a _lot_ different than being a big brother, but thankfully, Emma had inherited her grandmother's patience. Gabriel was also nice enough to suggest some parenting books. Thankfully, he'd done that in private and said books were currently hidden under Dean's bed. He didn't want to give his brother any ammunition to tease him about. Charlie had already volunteered to be the one to explain certain aspects of growing up that Dean didn't even want to _think_ about trying to start a conversation about having. He also didn't object to his friend telling his daughter that all boys were scum. 

Yawning, Dean struck the baskets gently against the side of the sink to shake off the excess water and loaded them into the dishwasher. While he loved to cook, cleaning up after cooking was still something he hated. Usually on Wednesdays, Harry was here to do dishes and help clean up, but he'd called in sick with allergies. Dean would rather do the dishes himself then watch one of his employees walk around the kitchen zoned out on Allegra and do something stupid, like grab a burning hot pan out of the oven barehanded.

Most of the work was already done, thanks to the small amount of customers tonight. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly nine-thirty – and he quickly went over to where the radio was and flipped over to another station just as the national anthem started playing. “Game time.” He grinned as the song ended and the starting line-up for the San Diego Padres was announced. 

The door to the kitchen swung open. “Yes, I finished all my homework.” Emma stated as she tied on an apron and picked up a bus tub.

“I wasn't going to ask.” Dean grinned as he scrapped the flat iron grill. “How many people are left out there?”

“Just Gabriel. I think Mr. Singer took advantage of the temporary break in the weather.” She shrugged. “I don't know if Uncle Sammy is done with his homework though.”

Dean snorted. “Well, I'll make sure he has it done before he goes to bed tonight.” He reached for the volume on the radio.

In response, Emma rolled her eyes and headed out of the kitchen.

Gabriel was so caught up in his work he didn't even notice the activity around him until the volume on the radio went up and he heard the familiar sounds of a Reds game echoing across the now almost empty diner. 

He let out a contented sigh, saved his work and closed his laptop. 

“Finished?” Emma's voice said from in front of him and he looked up. 

He grinned and nudged his empty plate and glass towards her. “Dean's already got you busing dishes?”

The girl put the plate and glass into her bus tub. “Only after the diner's closed. Work laws and stuff.” She turned and went into the kitchen just as Dean came out of it. 

“Working late again?” The younger man grinned and came over to him.

He chuckled as he put his laptop into his bag and set a bill on top of his tab. “You know how it is, get involved in something, forget where you are, and the next thing you know, it's almost ten at night and you're wondering where the time went.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly.” He tapped his fingers on the counter for a moment. “You know, you still haven't tried the french toast.”

Gabriel gave him a look. “I never have time for a hot breakfast and you know I only like breakfast food in the morning. I'm weird like that, you know.”

“I know.” A small grin was playing on his lips. “So how does this Saturday morning sound?”

“This Saturday?” He frowned. “I don't think...”

“Charlie and Sam are going to be at Dragon Con and Emma's going to be at a sleepover.” His grin was getting wider. “I can call you or nudge you, your choice.”

He found himself returning the grin. “I think I'll take nudge.”


End file.
